Touching Wild Light
by fadewithfury
Summary: The Doctor couldn't leave well enough alone after he heard the words "Bad Wolf" spoken by his former self. And when Rose appears before his eyes as he's regenerating, he's sure it's a moment that will change the course of his entire life.
1. Metamorphosis, Interrupted

Thank you to my betas Kilotalton and Abadplanwellexecuted! I've been thinking about this one for months and now i'm so happy to finally get to share it. This is a mash-up of an EOT Fix-it and a role-reversal Journey's End. We have some angst to push through up front.

* * *

This time is different than the times before. Each regeneration is, but this time it's slow and the ache is a dull crescendo and it gives him the opportunity to look back on his life. It was a good one, he thinks. Good _for_ him, not that it was a walk in the park. It all began with a wide open heart and a wide open smile, and both of those things were because of Rose. They were _for her_ and because of her. And then she was taken from him. Oh, he knew loss. He lost everything, and yet when he lost her–he lost himself, too. But Rose gave him those gifts, the open heart and the open smile, and so when she was no longer there, others came to be his friends in her wake. They never replaced her, no one ever could, but they were a much needed balm. And now because of them all, he knows friendship and family, and just a bit more about humanity.

Yeah, it was a good life.

He was even able to visit his companions as he was dying, the ones who helped define this version of himself, but he was careful not to interact. They needed to move on, just like he does now. Still, it was nice. And wasn't it just so human of him to want to do that? To _need_ to do that? The desire to talk to them was so strong, but he held back. Instead, he influenced their lives the only way he could now–from a distance. One by one, he collected his rewards. He almost made it without mucking up anything permanent (bloody unforgiving fixed points in time), but then there was Rose. He saved her for last, because she was the love of his life, and he wanted her face to be the last face he saw. He saved her for last, because the pain had become intense and it was hard to move and he knew that seeing her one last time would give him the strength to press on.

He was right. Seeing her again did make the pain more bearable. She was full of life and hope, entirely his opposite in that moment under the Christmas lights still shining for the New Year. He hadn't meant to attract her attention, but seeing her again had also made the pain more intense. He longed to touch her, couldn't take his eyes off of her. And just speaking to her again–hearing her voice, seeing her smile–made him want to take risks he really shouldn't be taking. But before anything catastrophic could happen, she was off, bounding across the street and into the stairwell that led up to her flat.

He stood there, watching her go, her brilliant smile burnt into his vision like a bright light. Moments later, the ood's appearance heralded the end, and so he limped back to the TARDIS, where he now awaited the end.

He looks down at his hands. He'd felt the glow burning under his skin long before it became visible, and now that it's there, racing along his veins, jumping from cell to cell, he knows he can't stop it. Part of him wants to. He'd like to just end it now, like the Master had done. But once things are set into motion they can't be stopped. He looks around the TARDIS one last time–the last time he'll see her with these eyes, and steps away from the console. The blast will be intense with the expulsion of radiation that had been slowly ravaging his system, and he didn't want to cause any irreparable damage.

He thinks of his companions again. Martha and Mickey. Wilfred and Donna. Rose–the Rose he left on the beach, and how she'll have no idea what he's about to go through. She liked him this way, and ever since big ears and leather, he's afraid to become someone she'll never know. She's probably with the other him at this very moment living the life he could never have. He flinches as a wave of pain racks through him and his mental shields slip, allowing Rose and the blue suited Doctor's possible timelines to skate across his mind. They're frayed at the ends, cut off at the moment the universes sealed them out.

It's time now, as the aura washes over his face, knocking thoughts from his mind. The pain brings tears to his eyes and he opens his mouth, compelled by fear or nostalgia, to confess how much he doesn't want to go. But before he can make a sound, a face appears before him, so sudden and quick that he swallows the words and staggers back a step. It's a familiar face; one he just saw moments ago. He blinks hard and she's still there.

"Rose…?" His voice is raw around the sound of her name and he swallows thickly.

"Doctor."

He blinks, the tears evaporating before they can fall. How could this be? Did she follow him into the TARDIS? She doesn't look quite the same. Her hair is very different, for starters, but she is grasping his face in her hands and pulling him towards her, and he's so bewildered that he lets her.

"I'm here to save you, my Doctor," she says. Her tone is ardent and her expression drawn with urgency. "A payment of debts."

"No, get away! I'll hurt you!"

The regeneration energy now consumes both of them as if to illustrate his point. Her eyes flare, golden and bright. She should be in agony, but she's smiling and her lips are getting closer and closer. He closes his eyes, deciding that this is some kind of hallucination. He's had his fair share of odd regenerations, in fact. Yes. His brain is giving him this vision, placating an old desire to ease him into death.

Her lips touch his and they're oddly light, like butterfly wings. He's not sure if he can even feel it or if his brain is filling in sensations for him. A presence brushes across his mind and the agony feels as though it's being siphoned out of him, pulled like poison from a wound. The burning sensation eases even more, and the feather-light touches are gone. Quicker than he could say Raxacoricofallapatorius, all is calm–the pain subsides. He opens his eyes to find no one there, and he sways forward, grasping for the rail nearby for support.

"Hello?"

He coughs, his voice feeling raw in his throat, but it sounds the same. He looks down at his hands, seeing long, thin fingers. There's a light dusting of freckles and hair–no different than before. Something moves in his periphery, and he turns to see a figure huddled over in the jump seat. It's her–the figment of Rose–or a woman who looks remarkably like her. Her clothes are bizarre–the colour of wicker baskets or boring carpets. Not to mention, they're tattered and holey like she had been running through a dense forest for a while or found them in a bin. Either way, he knows his Rose would never wear it.

"So which is it? Hallucination or–"

Her arms are wrapped around her middle and she grimaces. She's not well, whatever she is. He rushes over to her and reaches out, but his hands move through her. Hadn't she been able to grab him before? She looks up at him and there are tears in her eyes, marring her mascara.

"I'm just an image," she says, smiling through her pain. "No touch."

"Wh-what–?"

"You said that to me once. It's all there," she points to his head. "I'm Rose Tyler. Certain of that now." She winces, and something nearby sparks.

The Doctor looks to the source to see the Moment casing there, wedged under the console grating where he had stowed it. Now he remembers. He fetched it after he left his former and future selves in the museum, _Bad Wolf Girl_ playing over and over in his mind ever since his past self spoke the words. He looks back to the entity before him who looks so much like Rose it makes his chest ache. "So that's what he meant…"

"I chose this face and form especially for you," she says, her voice trembling now. "I've saved you, Doctor." She flashes a smile and it's the one he saw earlier in the snowy street. He couldn't look away if he tried.

"What are you? Are you the weapon? Are you a projection?"

"I'm Rose Tyler. Bad Wolf. I'm going to explode." She swings her legs and then cries out as another spark flashes. Her eyes glow and the TARDIS cloister bell chimes. "Oh, oh, that hurts!"

"But, you-" He moves swiftly to the grating and pulls it open. Carefully, he cradles the Moment box in his arms, and brings it up to sit it near the jump seat. It's clicking and crackling, emitting little beeps and other sounds that he's sure signify distress. "So, somehow this weapon has sentience, but now–oh, what have you done?"

"I absorbed the radiation. I staved off your regeneration so now you can find me again." She smiles. "That's what you want to do. I can see it in your mind." Her brow furrows and she frowns. "At least at one point you did. Everything's all muddled. I-I-I feel strange."

The Doctor tries to ignore her as he searches the Moment casing but can't find any controls. "I thought I did this before, but…" He runs his hand along the ornate carved surface.

"What are you trying to do, Doctor?"

"Trying to figure out what's happening. It seems the countdown was initialized, but I can't figure out how to stop it. Was there a failsafe?"

"The weapon will detonate in six minutes, fifty-two seconds. Terminal levels of radiation have been absorbed into the power core, destabilizing the initiation protocols, and it cannot be reversed."

"Oh, no. No, no, no!" If it blows up inside of the TARDIS, he could prevent it from–

"Don't you dare harm yourself. Don't you dare murder your beloved friend." She looks up at the glowing central column.

The Doctor stares at her. "What do you suggest I do, hm? You're the one who _saved_ me. Did you think it through?"

"Six minutes, seven seconds. The universe is immense. There's enough space between stars to create new ones. Oh, what's it doing to me?"

"If the Moment detonates in deep space, it-it-it would create a nebula. Possibly. Arrrgghh!" He grabs at his hair, making a right mess of it. "That what you mean? Yes, that's very possible." He jumps up and rushes to the console where he enters the coordinates for a remote region of space, far from any star system. He sets the TARDIS in motion and turns around to see the Rose-entity sitting there, doubled over, her face pale. "Or it'll tear open the fabric of time."

"You are a worry wart." Her face then twists in pain. "Is this what dying feels like? Five minutes, two seconds."

He knew the Moment was powerful, but enough so for it to develop a sentience? And it chose Rose of all of the people in his life. Brilliant. He had more questions and not nearly enough time to ask them. Why would she save him if it meant destroying herself? Is a future him going to do something so reprehensible that he needed to follow a different timeline all together? What would drive him to do something like that?

"Four minutes, forty-three seconds."

"I'm not going to let you die." The Doctor turns away from her, doesn't look at her as he speaks. She isn't Rose. She _isn't_, despite choosing her face and form. She's a projection of a sentient weapon. A hologram that took on her appearance–_that's all_. But she is alive, and he can't just destroy her, especially not after she saved his life.

He mentally ticks off his options. There's no time to figure out how to open the casing and separate the bomb from the processor. His sonic doesn't have the capacity to store her, but–but the TARDIS does! He swivels the monitor over to where he needs it. "I'm going to save you."

"How will you do that? Never mind, I know you're clever. Oh–if I do explode, I could become a star! Never imagined myself as a star. Four minutes, two seconds."

"You're not going to explode." He grits his teeth as he works calculations on the console. He sets up a program that will track and transfer the interface on the Moment to the TARDIS mainframe. "Fancy a lift?" He hovers his finger over the button that will initiate the process.

"I'm flattered, but jeez, Doctor, you should buy me a drink first at least. You're going to transfer me? Duplicate the program, upload me to there, delete me from here. Three minutes, thirty seconds."

"Yes."

"All right then." She smiles. "Rebirth it is! Three minutes, seventeen seconds."

He pushes the button and she blinks away, disappearing to wherever sentient projections go while their host programs are being relocated. He watches the screen to monitor the transfer. It takes mere seconds, but even so, he'll have very little time left once it's complete to jettison the most destructive weapon known in the universe. His fingers drum frantically against the console, his hearts race, and his eyes dart around the screen, chasing each progress glyph as they come and go.

Once the process ends, he turns to pick up the Moment box, but it's glowing like the sunset–or Regeneration, he realizes, and he backs away a step.

"Er…"

The energy shoots upwards and is absorbed into the console in a blinding flash. The TARDIS begins to vibrate, and the Moment casing cracks. Whatever that was, he can't deal with it right now. He has to get the weapon out of the TARDIS. He grabs the Moment and carries it to the TARDIS entrance.

After kicking open the door and scanning the vicinity to see nothing there but darkness, he shoves it out. The nearest star system would be far enough away for it to detonate without causing harm, though they might experience quite the dazzling light show. A part of him wonders if he's creating gods and fables, as he watches it float away from the TARDIS, all sounds it was making going silent in the vacuum of space.

He closes the doors and rushes over to the console to initiate the dematerialization sequence. The TARDIS enters the time stream without incident, and slips far, far away, putting eons of space and time between himself and the Moment's resulting shockwave. As he eases the TARDIS into orbit around a rocky, vacant planet, he calls back the coordinates to determine what had come of the so-called Galaxy Eater.

The readouts on the screen indicate that where the Moment exploded, a nebula bloomed, expanding outward in clouds of gas and dust.

"Doctor?"

He spins around to see Rose standing there just a few feet away. Not Rose in strange clothes with strange hair, but the actual, proper, jeans-and-t-shirt Rose. Her hair is straight and long and a small plait weaves through from her temple. It reminds him of the hairstyle she had when he regenerated, and it's just the subtle difference he needs to keep his feet on the ground. This wasn't Rose.

"Can't you chose a different form?"

"You don't like my outfit?" She smooths her hands down her stomach and tugs at her t-shirt, stretching it over her breasts.

He blinks and looks away from her, back to the screen. "No, I mean–your face."

She makes a sound like he's hurt her feelings. "S'cuse me?"

"Er, you don't see how it's a bit cruel to show up to me looking like that? You should know better if you know me as well as you say." He keeps his back to her as he taps his head.

"Are you really that thick or d'you know you're being rude and just don't care?"

"_I'm_ being rude?" He locates the Moment interface in the TARDIS mainframe and looks over the code as he responds. "I just saved your life. Least you could do is change your face to something less painful for me."

She's quiet for a long time after that. Maybe he was too hard on her; she was dying, after all. Probably didn't have a chance yet to conjure up a new face. He turns around, compelled to apologize, and finds that she's gone. He sighs and returns his focus to the screen. Everything looks typical at first. Incredible, sophisticated, but typical of Time Lord technology for a weapons interfacing system. But then he notices extensions in the program that connect it to specific databanks in the TARDIS, as well as rewrites and deletions that modify the program in very intricate ways. He can't quite tell if the TARDIS had anything to do with this, but it denotes a level of deliberation that is implicit of self-awareness.

He searches through one of the pathways and finds that it has pulled information from one source in particular: the TARDIS data sphere on Rose Tyler. It has accessed everything from images of her, to her DNA. It accessed records on her mannerisms, vocal patterns, personal history, and preferences, each comprising its own code sphere within the program. There are other pathways, too, pathways that don't appear to connect to anything at all. Just endless rerouted and encrypted code spheres that no matter how hard he tries, he can't surmount them. He initiates a program to do it automatically, but each attempt fails and gives him the error–_PRIVATE._

He swears under his breath and retraces his steps through the program. "Come on, think!"

Aha, there's a rather essential code sphere that has been erased. He puts on his specs to peer closely at the screen as he chases the function that deleted it. A message flashes: _Weapons Interface Protocol cannot be found._

The entity appeared to him just moments ago, so it obviously hasn't deleted itself entirely. Another message displays on the screen. His brow furrows as he searches for the program running in its place.

_Algorithm initialized: Rose Tyler._

"What?" Dread fills his chest, and he enters a series of commands.

_Cannot access Rose Tyler. Access denied._

"What the bloody hell have you done?" He pushes up his glasses and rubs his eyes. All signs were pointing to the Moment sentience having completely rewritten herself once she was transferred. He tries one more thing. If he could just…

_You do not have permission to alter this program._

"Oh, of course not!" This was some kind of punishment, he's sure. Stave off regeneration so he can be tormented with a not-Rose aboard his TARDIS. Guilt and grief take over, and each one's a fist clenching around his hearts. Bloody sentient bloody Time Lord technology. Just how did it become sentient, anyway?He sighs in exasperation and turns around to rest back against the console, crossing his arms. He schools his features to something as blank and hollow as he can muster.

"So, you've gone and made yourself into her, haven't you?"

There's a rush of regret when he doesn't see her there. He looks around the console room, but she's gone. He never heard her leave, so she must have shut herself off. That thought sends a shudder down his spine.

He sniffs, and then busies himself with pacing around the console, flipping switches and adjusting dials. He's not sure if he wants to go anywhere in particular right now. He's not sure exactly what he's in the mood to do at all. This all feels wrong. He shouldn't be here, all skinny pinstripes and great hair. He should be someone else entirely, but he's not, and he can't help but feel like he's created an entire universe around the moment he chose to take the weapon aboard his ship.

"_The Moment_, indeed," he says to himself, not an ounce of humor in his tone.

That future version of himself he met in the waistcoat and bowtie–would he still become him? Should he worry about reapers and crossing his own timeline? Did that future him know about all this, or was he now on an entirely different course? He mentally runs through the events of that day, cringing at most of what he recalls. There was no indication that he had a sentient Rose hologram on his TARDIS. No indication from his companion–Claire or Clara–that she knew of Rose at all. He should've never taken that damn thing aboard his ship.

He drops into the jump seat and lifts his feet to rest on the console, legs crossed. The central column dims and brightens and he looks up towards it, letting his thoughts spiral on.

If the Moment's conscience has augmented herself with detailed specifications on Rose Tyler, she very well may think she's Rose. And the regeneration energy he saw–just what the hell was _that_ about? If he wanted answers, if he wanted to gain access to her programming, he figures he'd have to play along. His lip curls and his eyes prickle as he tries to put himself in the headspace to play such a charade.

"Rose," he says, voice breaking. It takes him a moment to get past the sound of her name on the air. "A–are you there?"

There's no response. He thinks back to their earlier encounter. He told her to do something about her face–oh. He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Swinging his feet down to the grating with a clang, he springs up and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. "Think I'd like a cuppa. See you in the galley?"

He waits a beat. Still nothing. How does one summon a hologram who thinks she's human? "Er, I can make you one. We have some of that fresh edoa fruit that you liked. Can slice up some for you." He feels like a buffoon, talking to thin air.

The TARDIS hums.

"Oh, stop it. It's different talking to you." He sighs and strolls towards the ship corridors, looking down at his feet. Oh how he loves these feet. Grinning to himself, he's glad he can still enjoy wearing his good o' Chucks. He does a little hop to the side and–THWACK!

"…Ow." He opens his eyes as his head stops ringing to find himself nose-first against a doorway. He pushes away from the door and looks it up and down. The Gallifreyan symbols on the door read, _Rose Tyler_, and he takes a big step back, gasping. He hasn't seen this door ever since the TARDIS shuffled it into storage some time back–probably while Donna was still on board. He swallows and approaches it again.

"Ro-Rose?" He clears his throat and knocks at it softly.

"Go away," comes her muffled voice inside. "Not in the mood."

Relief swoops through him at the sound of her voice. "Oh, good. I mean–I'm sorry."

Seconds later, the door slides open, and Rose is standing there, her hair short and wavy. She's changed her shirt as well. It's blue and reads, _Wichita Falls_ in three overlapping colours. He's seen it before–once, and he squints at the memory.

"That all you have to say?"

"I, uhm… thought you might like tea. Was heading for the galley," he says, sliding his hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck.

She picks at her nails and tilts her head. "Sure."

His mouth works to say something else, and her eyes cut up to watch his lips. She fidgets more, tugging at her shirt collar and playing with a strand of hair, and that's when he notices that her eyes are red and puffy. His heart drops, and she must notice, because she looks away, letting her hair fall to block her face.

His stomach drops and he's overcome with the need to comfort her when she looks away. He's so transfixed. She's so precise, so authentic that his hand lifts to grab hers, but he stops himself short, fingers curling into a fist as it drops back to his side. She's not real. She's alive, yes–but she's not Rose. He smiles at her, a tight, but pleasant smile. "Good."

"Be there in a mo'." She turns away from him and the doors close.


	2. Pink and Yellow Catalyst

Thank you so much to my betas, kilodalton and abadplanwellexecuted! And thank you for my reviews so far. I hope you continue to enjoy it!

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There's not a lot of time to think when the dimension cannon chimes that it has locked onto an occurrence of space-time displacement through the void. It's the closest it has ever come in all of their testing to matching the atomic resonance of her TARDIS key, so it has to be the right universe. Rose nods to Mickey and Jake, and then squares her stance for her very first jump, heart doing gymnastics in her chest. An odd sensation pulls at her insides, and that's all the warning she gets before she's hurtling across the void. It's instantaneous. Barely a blink and she's back in her old universe, but she feels like it has just been through a centuries-long freefall. She staggers forward against a nearby tree and gasps as the molecules in her body readjust from being stretched and dispersed and reassembled. Jake was right. Can't compare that feeling to anything else, and he had only been transported across the room.

"Oh, my God! I made it!" Her voice warbles as she's overcome with emotion. Relief and hope fill her up to the brim and she hasn't felt this way in literal years. Happiness bubbles up from somewhere so, so deep inside that she erupts with a peal of laughter, tears stinging her eyes. The sound, the feel of laughing from sheer joy is a salve on her wounded spirit—she knew she could do it. Oh, Doctor, I'll get to see you soon!

But it's a rush that quickly derails as a surge of dizziness takes over. It's like she can feel the earth spinning under her feet, and she wonders how the Doctor can stand it. Her pulse grows erratic, and her stomach churns—not to mention there's a steady build of static, like white noise, whooshing through her head. She looks around to orient herself as she clings to the tree trunk. Wherever she is, it looks tropical—lots of colorful flowers and lush, green vegetation. The air is salty and there's a cool breeze that somewhat relieves the creeping clamminess that comes with a drop in blood pressure. A nearby vine of flowers is giving off a sweet odour that she might've normally found pleasant, but it's the breaking point for her upset stomach. Bile rises before she can stop it, and she retches on the roots of the tree, fingers digging into the bark to brace herself. Though the taste in her mouth is disgusting, she feels much better. They'd warned her that could happen. They also said she could die, and she's fairly certain she's alive, so she'll take her queasiness in stride.

The leaves of nearby trees rustle noisily, startling her, as an animal scurries away through the branches. She squints up through broad, flat leaves to the bright sunlight filtering down, and the warmth helps to sooth her further. The Doctor has to be nearby, and so she presses on, her hand moving to touch the TARDIS key through her shirt.

She takes an unsteady step forward, her feet scuffing against packed, sandy soil. The static dulls and morphs as her senses recover, becoming rhythmic, like the pull and crash of ocean waves. That makes sense—as it appears she's in the tropics. So, an island, maybe. She scans the forest and spies a small stream just ahead—it burbles and splashes just over the sound of the distant surf. She heads for it, and as she reaches it she drops to her knees by the bank. Cupping her hands, she brings the crisp, fresh water to her lips to clean out her mouth and wash her face.

After resting a moment and checking her wrist monitor to confirm that she still has a signal, albeit weak, tethering her to the other universe, she notices a dark shape beyond a banana tree up ahead . Shielding her eyes with her hand, she studies it and her heart jumps into her throat—it'sBLUE! And just the right height! She wants to run, but she's still feeling a bit wobbly, not to mention there's a massive purple and blue snake draped over a branch right ahead.

"Oh, hello. Aren't you pretty." She stands and steps over the small stream. "Pretty just where you are." She skirts around the snake, finding a path through a cluster of plants with long fronds and little red flowers, the time ship never once leaving her line of sight.

Her ultimate goal is to deliver a message that the stars are going out, but tears prickle her eyes at the thought of seeing him again. She clenches her fists to calm the anticipatory tremble in her hands. Would he be tinkering under the console? Flitting from panel-to-panel, adjusting controls? Sitting pensive and quiet on the jump seat? She can almost hear the sound of the TARDIS rotor as her imagination runs wild. She bites her lip to quell her joy—a habit formed after one too many disappointments—but a smile escapes when she finally reaches her target. She runs her hand along the outside of the beloved blue box as she rounds to the front doors, her heart soaring.

"Doctor?" She calls out, knocking, but she's met with fluttering wings of an evading bird and not much else. But—oh. Her breath hitches as she's struck with a heavy realization. There's a chance they hadn't lost each other yet and she could be with him, throwing a rather complicated spanner in this whole thing. And the worst scenario—a chance he hasn't met her yet and wouldn't believe her warnings. Back at Torchwood, they went over all of these possibilities with her in her preparations, and she knew the risks—she drafted the list herself long ago—but she was so relieved to have actually made it that they all seemed easy to deal with in comparison.

She bites her nail and withdraws the key from her shirt collar—what if he's changed again? What if he's—stop. The stars are going out. That's far, far more important, yeah? Her hand shakes as she fits the key into the keyhole and twists it. It opens, and she's sure the entire world can feel her hammering heart.

Stepping inside is like stepping back in time, and the irony that she's in a time ship isn't lost on her. She closes the door behind her and swallows, eyes flitting around. His long coat is draped over the coral strut near the door and she flies over to it on impulse, sliding her hands across the brown material and bringing its collar to her nose. She closes her eyes and breathes in his scent. She could easily get lost in this feeling, and nearly falls to her knees to do just that, when she stills, a wave of embarrassment hitting her. A quick glance up confirms he's definitely not in the console room watching, but she places the coat back over the strut nonetheless. He could be deeper in his ship, so she closes her eyes and steadies her nerves. She walks up the ramp and bathes in the green glow of the central column. Every step towards the console mends the fragments of her spirit that had been scattered when the universes closed.

She touches the console, glides her hands over levers and knobs, and finds the monitor screen resting on an image of a planet. Surrounding it are the interlocking circles and lines, all turning and ticking away to spell out words in his native language that she can't translate.

The central column glows and dims, and the TARDIS hums, drawing out another smile from her weary soul.

"Missed you, too," she says, soaking it all in. The roundels, the grated floors, the coral struts.

"Right then. I'll just have to wait."

She flops onto the jump seat to do just that, and something catches her eye under the grated floor near the console. At first, she dismisses it. Not important right now in the least. Her eyes wander the domed room, following the lines of the struts and the rails that skirt the perimeter until they settle once again on the object under the console. She tilts her head, considering, but looks away, only to have her attention drawn straight back to it seconds later.

Dropping to her hands and knees, she crawls towards it to get a better look. It's some kind of fancy, wooden box with thick edges and metal corners that gleam even in the shadows. Each panel is carved with thick lined designs bearing a resemblance to the circular symbols on the monitor, only they're overlapping like the gears inside a clock. It's beautiful, and her mind begins to fill in possible scenarios of how it came to be there. Did he find this all on his own? Or—maybe he's travelling with someone else now, and she's the new Sarah Jane. She stiffens. Did he have a new companion to share in his excitement when he came across such a treasured artefact? How long has it been for him since that terrible white wall and his ghost on the beach?

She quickly stamps down the sad, ugly feelings that boil up and refocuses on the box. Wonder takes over, and her fingers hover over the darker wood of an outer edge. Wait—what? She gasps, stopping herself before she can touch it.

"What the hell…?" She looks over her shoulder to see where she had evidently pulled up the grating and climbed down underneath into the narrow, cramped space without realizing it. A spike of fear shoots through her, and she scrambles backwards away from the box to sit up where the Doctor would lie to tinker under the console.

The box just sits there—wedged under the grating and tucked under the shadow of the control panel nearly out of sight from her vantage point. It doesn't do anything, and after a few moments she feels a bit of relief. It's just a wooden box for crying out loud. It's not a Dalek. Either way, she shouldn't mess with it—clearly the Doctor put it under there for a reason—so she turns to climb out.

Yet, the further away she crawls, the more she wants to inspect it, until it becomes an unshakable urge that drives her back towards the box. As she draws near, the peculiar feeling of someone watching her creeps in, and she looks over her shoulder to find herself still alone. But then the feeling shifts, and it seems to be coming from the box—as though it is the presence she feels. Right. That's odd—but she won't touch it. She just wants to have another look, a closer look. Yeah. She leans forward to do so and finds her hand already resting on one of the metal corners. She blinks, transfixed, and rubs along a wooden edge, tracing the carved circles with her fingertips. It takes her a second to realise that where she touches the box, she's left a glowing trail on its surface. Oh, now that's something. She pulls her hand away and it fades.

"Huh."

Right, that's enough. She turns to leave but her hands are on it again as though they have a mind of their own, this time grasping it outright. Golden light sprays from between her fingers and around the outline of her hands. The glow quickly spreads, sparking over the dips and grooves of the designs, and it tingles, whatever this is that's happening. She smiles, bliss washing through her, assuaging any fears, the longer she remains in contact. Her muscles relax and she feels like she's floating on water—weightless and carefree. But then she feels a thump in her head, almost like a rubber band snapping, and everything becomes far too bright to see. Her pulse skyrockets and she cries out, tearing her hands away from the box.

As her eyes adjust from the flash of light, she finds herself lying on her back, staring up through metal lattice to the dome of the TARDIS interior above. She props herself up on her forearms, her body buzzing along with the humming sound in her head, and her eyes dart back to the strange box. It's still alight, though not as bright, and as she stares at it, the humming in her head becomes a myriad of voices. There are so many that she can't single one of them out for too long, but eventually the sheer volume fades and a few remain—and they're her voice.

She rolls over and climbs out from under the grating, replacing the cover. A few whispers remain in her mind, and now her body is tense and she feels the complete opposite of bliss. She wraps her arms around herself and takes another step backwards. The Doctor will be back, and he'll sort this all out. Yeah, it'll be like old times. She forces a smile as though she's trying to convince the world it would be that easy. Her legs hit the side edge of the jump seat and she slowly sits down.

"Thank you," says a voice—her voice—but she hadn't said anything. She's sure of it.

Alarmed, she sits forward, whipping her head around. "Who's there? Who said that?"

Her only response is a sudden pulling sensation at her solar plexus, and it's familiar, like she felt just before jumping, and a second later—a mere blink later—she's standing back in Torchwood with a team of scientists and medical technicians rushing towards her to check her vitals and her wrist comm.

Mickey swore as he hurtled towards her, nudging others out of his way. "Rose, oh, God, are you all right?"

She can barely nod before that awful sick feeling comes over her like the first time. With some effort, she manages to keep herself from heaving as she leans forward with her hands resting on her thighs.

"Sorry, Rose, our sensors indicated you were in distress. I hope there wasn't too much of a delay—"

Her senses sharpen and she snaps her head up to glare at whoever spoke. "NO! Send me back! I WAS THERE!" She lunges for the dimension canon control panel, knocking a few people out of her way in the process. It's like the air has been ripped from her lungs all over again. "I was in the TARDIS! Why did you do this to me?!"

"I'm so sorry," says Jake, backing away from the controls. "Everything was going haywire over here. Your stats were crashing—looked like you were... Look, we had to pull you back. We went over this."

"He's right, Rose. There was nothing for hours and hours and then all of a sudden," Mickey says with a wild gesture. "It's like you were, you were—"

"You were dying. That's what the readings told us, Rose," Jake adds.

"Fuck!" Rose turns towards Mickey and he pulls her in for an embrace, but she keeps her arms wrapped around herself. "I was so bloody close. I made it across and he was gonna be back any minute."

"Did something happen?" Mickey asks, rubbing her back.

She exhales through her nose, trying to calm her anger. "Yeah, um. It wasn't anything, though! There was this box, and I—" she stops herself, mouth hanging open a second as she slides away the hair that fell in her face. "It was weird, yeah, I panicked, but I was fine! I was just sitting there waiting for him."

A nearby technician was entering notes into a tablet resting on his forearm, every so often glancing up at Rose. She knew he had to be recording her statements, and so she lifted her guard. That's all they needed to know—she couldn't have them coming up with any excuse to keep her from going back.

"Did you see him?"

"No. I was," she takes a ragged breath. "I was alone. He wasn't around. But he was gonna come back and sort it out."

"We'll try again," say Jake.

"As long as everything checks out," adds the engineer next to him.

"Okay—no. Right now. I'm ready; I'm fine. How long till it calibrates?" She gently pulls away from Mickey and walks over to Jake. "If we hurry he might still be there."

"Twenty-four minutes, but we have to make some adjustments, and you need a thorough physical examination after what you just went through."

"I feel perfectly fine. It's a bit dodgy at first, but see, I wasn't as sick the second time, when you pulled me back."

"Yeah, I detected a bit of distress when you first went through and made some tweaks to the gravitational tide force field. I think I can adjust it further so there'll be no side effects at all. Just need some time."

"I can handle an upset stomach, Jake. Just send me through." She steps back onto the cannon platform.

"Rose," a scientist says, clearing her throat. "We need to run some tests on how jumping across the void affects your biology. It could take a day or two to get results, and I'd advise against further travel until we can be sure it hasn't caused any irreparable damage." She places a hand on Rose's elbow to lead her over to a nearby medical stall.

"What sort of damage?"

"Well," the scientist begins as she helps Rose remove her leather jacket and motions to a chair nearby. "Have a seat there. Thanks." She prepares the vein in Rose's arm for a blood draw as she continues. "You traveled through a contained singularity to pass across the void into another universe. Tidal gravity wasn't fully shielded as you crossed the event horizon, hence your nausea and other ailments, which could lead to cellular deterioration." She places a bandage over the injection site and pats Rose on the shoulder. "I'll be right back. Need to grab my biopsy kit from medbay."

Rose nods and looks out of the medical stall entrance to where she can see the dimension cannon control panel. Jake is there, along with a couple other engineers, looking over the data from her jump and talking together animatedly. They're excited, and they have every reason to be. The cannon works, finally, and she smiles, sharing in a bit of their enthusiasm despite her utter frustration that she has to wait for her next jump.

And, God, just being in the TARDIS again—being so bloody close—made it worth the wait, yeah? She proved she could do it, that the dimension cannon works, the thing she had a hand in constructing works, and that finding him isn't like searching for a needle in a haystack like they thought it'd be. She bites her bottom lip, and her grin deepens as she sinks down in the chair.

Mickey joins her after a few minutes and leans against the threshold. "You said there was a box on the TARDIS, and that's when something odd happened, so that lines up with what was going on over here as far as we can tell. Any idea what it was? You didn't touch it, did you?"

Rose sits up and shrugs a shoulder. "It was a, uhm," she peers around to make sure there's no one else in earshot. "It was a cube with designs all over it, made of wood. I touched it—don't tell them. Please?"

"I won't, Rose."

"This is gonna sound mental, but, I think it wanted me to touch it. I remember noticing it and then next thing I know, my hand's on it. I'm under the console and everything, like I blacked out."

Mickey furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side. "Yeah, we should keep that bit between us. Might not matter, but I know you wanna go back, like, yesterday."

She blows a puff of air in relief, stirring up her fringe. "Yeah. Knew you'd understand. But I'm fine anyway, it didn't do anything else."

"What do you reckon it was?"

Rose looks up in thought and rubs her hands down her thighs to her knees, where she rests on her forearms as her gaze shifts to the floor. "Don't know. I was gonna ask the Doctor, so I would've found out if I hadn't been jerked back." There's a cutting edge to her tone and it's not meant for Mickey, but she looks up at him anyway to make sure he didn't take offense. He's looking off at nothing in particular, expression pensive. After a minute, he speaks up.

"You did it, Rose." His face breaks into a grin.

"Yeah, well, s'only working 'cos the walls are breaking down. S'not right, is it? I was laughing. I was so happy, and I was right there in the TARDIS. But the only reason why I could make it at all was 'cos the stars are going out, and that's bad." She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall behind her. "It's wrong."

"You're allowed to be happy to see him again."

Her jaw clenches and her brows draw together. "But, I didn't."

After a stretch of silence, she hears Mickey walk away.

Rose stares at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. Her appearance has changed again since the Doctor left her door and she can't quite figure out how it happens. She just…changes. Now she's wearing an indigo leather jacket with a maroon vest and dark trousers. Her hair is combed straight and plain and dyed a softer, more honeyed blonde. Her frame is thinner, her body shaped with lean muscle, and her face is set in a hardened, stoic expression. She looks scary, and it unnerves her to the point that she turns away from the mirror.

The last thing she remembers is walking into the console room to find the Doctor studying the monitor, his posture bent, braced by his palms against the console, and his back hunched as though the weight of the universe resting there had finally gotten to him. Her first instinct was to soothe him, but his reaction was so cruel that she felt more like an intruder than a friend. His words cut through her mind again and she bit her lip.

Then the TARDIS moved her to her room! Away from him—making it abundantly clear she was at fault for his distress. But, what the hell did she do? She holds her head as she struggles to recall the events of the day. What could cause her to change her appearance in a snap—was she under some kind of alien spell?

"Oh, you've really done it this time."

She paces, pointedly avoiding the mirror. Her eyes fall on the trinkets she'd amassed from other worlds and other times. They're spread throughout the room—on shelves and the vanity, her bedside table. They anchor her to specific events, building a picture of where she is relative to her own timeline. She trails her hands over them, not quite touching them, but with each one, her memory of that moment returns and it sends a jolt of relief through her. A Victorian comb brings to mind Dickens and a Werewolf, oh, that's two memories! An applegrass scented candle. A child's drawing of her and the Doctor with an Olympic banner overhead. She smiles, feeling more grounded.

She catches sight of herself in the mirror again and flinches, the worries flooding back to her.

No, she won't feel sorry for herself. The Doctor was deeply disturbed by something, and maybe he wasn't ready to talk about it when she bothered him. He did apologise. He did ask her to join him for tea in the galley—that had to be a sign that he forgave her for whatever she did.

She startles as her surroundings flicker away. With the mere thought of the galley comes her instant appearance there, and it reminds her of something she can't quite place. She looks up as though to question the TARDIS, and flinches when she hears the refrigerator door pop shut.

"Oh—hello," the Doctor says, turning towards her. He has a half-eaten banana trifle cradled in his hands, and there are two mugs of steaming tea on the table. His eyes drift over her and he swallows, emotions caged behind a blank expression.

"Hello," she says, voice quiet as she approaches the table.

The Doctor is watching her—no, observing her, and it sets her further on edge. She looks away, focusing intently on the mug of tea, but can still tell his eyes are on her as she grabs for the chair to pull it out. Her hands pass through and she gasps, swaying forward. She tries again, and this time she's able to make contact, but she can't move the chair at all.

He sets the trifle down on the table. "Ro—" He swallows, blinking hard. "Rose."

"What's happened to me?"

He comes around to pull out her chair, fingers lingering on the back of it as she sits down.

"What do you remember?"

"Nothing." She reaches for her tea but hesitates, afraid of the same result.

"Nothing?"

She decides to leave the mug alone for now. "No, I mean, I think my memory is coming back. I know who you are and who my mum is," she chuckles airily. "I just don't," she draws in a shaky breath, "I just don't remember what happened to make me, uhm, you know, like this. What happened to me?"

He sits down across from her and stares at the trifle, but she knows he's really focusing on his thoughts. Working out what to say to her as he works his jaw.

"S'okay. Don't have to talk about it if—"

"I don't exactly know what happened. Not fully, but we'll figure it out. I think," he shifts, his posture relaxing a bit as he scratches the back of his neck. "I think you're still, ahh, calibrat—er—adjusting! Yes. You're still adjusting to what you went through. I'm sure your memories will return once you're all sorted."

She nods and hovers her hands around her mug again, feeling its warmth though she hasn't yet made contact.

"Do you remember what you ate for breakfast?" he asks.

His question triggers something in her mind, and a flood of memories spring forward. Her eyes widen at the relief it brings and she covers her mouth with her hands. The Doctor's eyebrows raise and he tilts his head.

"I remember things now," she says.

"Things?"

"Yes—um. I remember I woke up this morning and ate beans on toast. I was in my mum's kitchen, though it was a lot bigger than I remember," her voice trails off. No, this had to be a dream. "My dad was there, and some kid." She looked across at the Doctor, whose expression was blank. "Nevermind. Guess I'm confusing dreams and memories."

"Interesting," the Doctor says, though not with his usual curiosity.

"Am I," she swallows, searching for the words. She doesn't want to upset him further. "Why is the TARDIS teleporting me around?"

"That isn't quite what—ah," he tugs on his ear and leans towards the trifle, scooping out a bit of banana custard with his finger. He sticks it into his mouth and hums to himself. "Still delicious. I'll tell you what. I don't want to ever become someone who hates bananas. Did you know the bananas on Trevk make you float? They're also very rare and the floating properties are a well-guarded secret. Eating a Trevk banana is a deep offense punishable by floating around town in your pants so everyone laughs at you."

Rose grins. "Let me guess—you found out the hard way?"

"Oh, yes!" He grins back at her. "And they taste divine. Like the best bananas you've ever had—with a hint of cotton candy at the end. Mmmm." He jams his fingers in the trifle for another taste.

"I'd like to try one of those bananas someday." She watches him, still smiling.

His face falls just as he withdraws his fingers from his mouth.

"What? What is it? Was I there also?" She sighs, another memory to recover.

"Er, no. You weren't. It's just-," he sighs. Why don't you finish your tea, and then I can run a few scans?"

"Kay." She smiles as she closes her hands on the mug, and it's hot and firm in her palms, invoking a swoop of hope that she's back to normal. She tries to turn the handle towards herself, but the mug doesn't budge, the tea inside remains as still as ever. With a heavy sigh, she jerks her hands away and sits back in the chair, her smile dissolving as worry overtakes her once more.

The Doctor stands and returns the trifle to the refrigerator. He then walks briskly past her and speaks over his shoulder before exiting the galley. "Come with me, please."

"Where are we going?"

He pauses at the doorway and glances at her a moment before responding. "To my workshop."

Rose nods, though wonders why they'd go to his workshop as the galley disappears around her.


	3. Just a Simulation

Thanks to my betas, kilodalton and abadplanwellexecuted. Sorry for all the angst. It'll slowly begin to taper off, but not just yet. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

* * *

The Doctor pauses in the doorway of his workshop. He's not the least bit surprised she's there already–she's been spontaneously teleporting, as she put it–but, his chest still constricts and one of his hearts dive-bombs into his stomach at the sight of her. She's biting her lip and standing in front of a shelf of technological flotsam and jetsam, her eyes trailing over each item, bright with curiosity. She lifts up on her toes to look at a metallic tree-like object covered in little bulbs that he found in a cave on an uninhabited planet. Her skin becomes dappled in glowing amber circles when it lights up, sensing her presence.

"Oh, what are you?" she says, a smile permeating her voice.

He wants to tell her what it is. He needs to have her turn that smile in his direction as he fills her mind with wonder, and he's halfway to her before he stops. The story is poised at the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. Tearing his eyes from her, he bolts over to the terminal before his other heart dive-bombs.

"Right. Let's sort this out." He focuses on the screen as he brings up the Rose program.

"Why couldn't we look at the console terminal?"

He startles at the sudden closeness of her voice, fingers flattening over the terminal touchpad.

She steps forward so she's now right next to him. "Sorry."

"You've no footsteps," he says on a rush of breath.

"I'll put a bell on."

Her smile is back. He can hear it in her voice, and it's such a lovely sound, but he doesn't laugh like he would've before he lost her. Now he'll have to get used to listening out for the subsonic hum of his electromagnetic field being affected by cluster photons while she's around. Extensively more difficult to detect than matter, than breath and a pulse and the smell of her skin under a layer of body wash, but not impossible. His eyes close as his mind fills in those sensorial spaces for him on impulse.

Oh, she asked a question. And he's being a prat, isn't he?

"It's because the biotech scanner is here," he says, softening his tone.

"Biotech?"

"Yes. Mind going over there to that scanning bay?" He gestures to a semicircle platform nearby, eyes boring into the screen though he can see her puzzled expression clearly in his periphery.

"All right." She shrugs and wanders over to the platform. After inspecting it curiously, she steps up onto the smooth, metal surface.

He glances over at her once she's in place. She's standing there, arms by her sides at first, calm and ready. But as seconds tick by, one hand travels up to fidget with her earring, then a strand of hair by her face, and then she's biting at her nail. His gaze drops to the steady rise and fall of her chest, and then travels up to her eyes, which blink eight times in the thirty seconds he realises he's been staring at her–average rate for a human. _But she__'__s not. _ He looks away again.

"Wh-what's it gonna do?"

"It takes readings, compiles a status report, and other boring stuff. Most importantly, it should help us figure out what happened."

"Will it hurt?"

"You'll feel, err, I'm not sure what you'll feel, but I'm going to start the scan."

She nods, and he initiates the process. Her image flickers and shimmers as the machine does its work.

"All right?"

She nods.

The data spheres he called up previously appear on the screen, and his fingers rove over each one, displaying their contents in sequence. He sees how some of them are functioning now when they weren't before–possibly memory spheres. When the scan is complete, he presses on the screen to reveal the results.

"All right, you can step away."

She steps down and joins him. "So what's my diagnosis?" She tilts her head and looks at the terminal.

"Well," he says, tipping his head to the side. "You're a visual interface system that has sentience, or at least, that's what you were before." He glances at her, and when her eyebrows lower and she frowns, he continues on, refocusing on the readouts. "Ah, you see, before, you required my brain to project yourself visually. Now, you're…," his voice trails off.

"I'm… what?"

The tremble in her voice draws his attention away from the terminal at last. He wants to grasp her shoulders reassuringly, or hold her hand, or sit next to her so she can lean against him if she wants to, but he wanders over to fidget with a project he's been working on instead.

"Weeeelll," his hand finds the back of his neck, and he balances the contraption in one hand. "I need your permission to access the data spheres so I can apply the scan results to know more."

"Um, you have my permission–yeah, sure. How…how did this happen? I can't remember anything I did. At least tell me that?"

"Sorry, hang on. I want to make sure you understand why I'm asking permission, and what it means." He turns towards her and waits for her response.

She nods, though regards him wearily. "Yeah, okay."

He takes a deep breath. Might as well rip it off like a plaster.

"I know this is probably difficult to hear," his expressions remain animated as he speaks, though he keeps his attention focused at the contraption. He tinkers with it idly. "Especially if…well, we'll get to that point. I need your permission, because you are essentially a sentient program. A very intricate and sophisticated program, and I'm unable to access the data spheres I need in order to determine how you have, er, to determine how you're a program now." He swallows, realizing there are layers of plasters to rip off and he must do them in a very particular order. He places the contraption back on his workbench and turns to her, summoning the steely resolve to push through. She's not looking at him anymore, which makes it a bit easier.

"The program is still making pathways, like synapses forming in a baby's brain, so things are a bit sporadic right now. Soon you'll be able to have more control over things. You look like this–you, ah, keep changing appearance, and that's probably because I have loads of pictures–er, well…all taken with permission of course." He tugs at his ear and feels himself blushing.

"Wait, this is too much." She steps backwards, arms folding around herself.

His embarrassment extinguishes at her obvious distress. At seeing Rose's lovely face–whether she's made of light or flesh and bone–etched with worry lines, eyes glassy with unshed tears. He holds up his hands in a gentle, placating gesture. "I'm so sorry."

"Just…God." She squeezes her eyes shut. "Can you tell me like a regular bloke?"

He takes a deep breath. "You're not Rose. You're a program who thinks she's Rose, and I'm trying to figure out why."

"Really." She holds out her arms to inspect herself. "Why ain't I in a computer, then?"

"Well, you're a kind of hologram that's being run by a program."

"If I'm a hologram, what am I made of?"

"Photons. Light projected by the TARDIS, and other particles, but–"

"I don't feel like it." She shakes her head ever so slightly and licks her lips as she runs a hand down her own arm.

"There's a lot more to it. Do you need to sit?"

"I-I want to, but if I'm just some beam of light, how the hell could I _need_ to sit, yeah?" She laughs disparagingly. "That's why I can't move anything, then. I'm a bloody hologram."

He finds a stool anyway and offers it to her, his expression wrought with concern. "I think you're still mending. You may be able to eventually–like I said, far more than a mere hologram. Time Lords were capable of producing holograms that could touch and be touched."

Rose ignores the stool and turns to the terminal, her face beset with determination. Se lifts her hand to the screen. In an instant, the data spheres are unlocked, and reams and reams of information spills by. The Doctor averts his gaze, not feeling it's his place to know all of it. She remains there for several minutes, seemingly in a trance, and he swallows as he waits for the process to complete.

At last, she withdraws her hand. "I remember now."

He leans in, studying her expression, analyzing minute muscle movements to determine her general mood. The interface is so realistic, so precise, he keeps feeling like he could reach out and touch her. He's suddenly overcome with how much he wants to, and closes his eyes, reining in the urge. When he opens them, she's facing him, her eyes trained right at his.

"I remember touching that box under the console. It… it did something to me. Oh, god! Did I die? Did I get absorbed by the box and now I'm a hologram?"

He blinks, not following. "Hmm?"

"It all makes sense. I just, I mean–see. It was my first jump, and I found the TARDIS! I was so–" She stops, taking a calming breath as she relives the moment in her mind before she continues. "And I went inside and sat down to wait for you, but that box. It was like it enticed me to it. Had that feeling like there's someone in the room with me but there wasn't, yeah? I didn't even realize I touched it, but when I did, it started glowing. That's–that's the last thing I remember."

"Your first–oh."

"Now I understand why you were so upset. Oh, Doctor… What happened to me? To my, uh… body."

"It's… hang on. Your very first jump across the universe, you found the TARDIS and came inside." He began to pace, piecing everything together.

"Yes."

"You touched the box–which, by the way, was a highly sophisticated super weapon capable of destroying an entire galaxy–and POOF!" He claps his hands together. "It, to use your term, absorbs you. Your thoughts and memories and feelings up to that point, essentially. You said it felt like it made you do it. Well, it quite possibly did make you, as it was sentient. And then. AND THEN! The interface it, well…" he swallows, recalling the searing pain of regeneration and the warm balm of the kiss that allowed him to cheat death for a second time in a row.

"And then?"

He inhales deeply and sighs. "Why don't we go somewhere less," he waves his hand around vaguely. "And a bit more, erm–" He shrugs. "Follow me?"

"Where to?" She glances at the terminal as he shuts it off.

"How about a surprise? So you don't teleport." He smiles and waggles his eyebrows at her.

"Yeah, I'd like that." A brilliant smile blooms on her face, and there goes his other heart.

**

As they walk along the corridor in silence, his mind wanders to a distant beach in another universe. He plays the scene over in his mind more often than he'd care to admit, and wonders if she does the same. It feels like ages ago that he watched Rose kiss the other Doctor, watched him pull her into his arms and give in to the promise of a life with her.

He glances back at the Rose following along behind him. She smiles at him, and there's a glint of joyful eagerness in her eyes that makes him wish he'd kept his eyes forward.

She isn't Rose; Rose is gone. Tucked away safely in a parallel world with a parallel him and they're happy. They're picking out carpets, paying bills, having rows over silly things like who washes the dishes this time, and making up with anger-fueled kisses that grow tender as her hands slide up the back of his shirt to press against his skin.

He shakes away the thought before it breaks him in two.

This Rose was born from the manipulations of a sentient interface system. But, he can't really blame the Moment. He's the one who _had_ to know what his younger self meant, and he's the one who went against all reason and brought the weapon aboard his time ship to find out. He hadn't felt persuaded to do it at all; it was a choice he made with a clear conscious, regardless of how skewed his perspective had become after Mars.

Still, he never expected this would happen. That there'd be another failed regeneration and another bloody metacrisis to contend with. This one… As soon as he can think of what to do with her, he's going to do it. The harshness of his own thoughts surprises him, and he clenches his fists by his sides. No. He won't take it out on her. She believes she's Rose, as well she should. He sighs, feeling her move closer to him. His hand relaxes at his side, tingling with the expectation for her to grasp it.

But, at last they reach their destination and he puts distance between them, turning towards the door. He looks down at her, and she meets his gaze, her pleasant expression fading.

"What?"

"You all right, Doctor?"

"Of course; I'm positively keen. Why would I be anything else?" He beams at her.

"You had a scowl." She glances at the door, her eyes roving over the Gallifreyan symbols for _Observatory III_. He wonders if the TARDIS translates it for her now.

"Hm. Maybe the banana trifle isn't agreeing with me. All right then, here we are."

The doors open up to reveal endless black space dotted with gleaming stars. There's a circular platform hovering just inside at the doorway, and the Doctor steps over to it.

Rose hesitates at the door, gaping. "Blimey… Why aren't we getting sucked out?"

"This is just a simulation," he says and lifts his sonic to a control panel by the door. The visual swirls and shifts until there's a river of stars arcing across the black expanse. "See? Now we're looking at a band of your Milky Way galaxy as though we're floating in space below it." He looks up at it. "Quite a distance away from it, but–come on, I'd like to show you something."

She grins and joins him on the platform, which she inspects with a lifted eyebrow. It's covered in pillows and blankets, which are kept from falling over the edge by a small guardrail.

"This is, wow. It's… it's, well."

"It's what?"

"A bit Casanova for you, yeah?"

He scrunches up his face. "Nothing of the sort goes on here. It's just an observatory, one of three on the TARDIS, and sometimes I like to take a kip in here so I made it comfortable."

"That's sweet."

"What?"

"I dunno. The thought of you sleeping in here, surrounded by stars."

"It's not _sweet_. I'm just sleeping, not entertaining a litter of puppies."

"So you _do_ sleep."

"Of course I sleep."

She has a little smirk on her lips that unnerves him. Her cheeks are also tinged with pink, and some part of him is really satisfied that he can still invoke that response in her, even on accident. Even if she's a hologram. He sighs and aims the sonic again and the platform disengages from the entrance and floats out into the darkness. He can't help but watch her as she looks up in awe at the stars that glitter overhead, and he's never going to come to terms with this, is he? She's as Rose as Rose ever was and every minute she remains in his presence is another nail in the coffin of his ability to resist the temptation to accept that the bloody universe has given him a gift and he should take it and stop acting like a knob about it.

The platform comes to a stop, and the doorway at the far end of the room closes, completing the illusion that they are floating in space.

"Let's have a seat, hm?" He says as he drops down on a pillow, legs crossed. He watches her, and feels a little jolt of happiness burst in his chest. It takes him by surprise, and for a second he lets it buzz under his skin, bringing a smile to his face.

Rose sits down across from him and reaches for a pillow, but it won't budge as she tries to tug it into her lap. That's all it takes. The wonder and warmth flees from her like a switch has been flipped, and she looks down, eyes focused at nothing in particular.

He sobers and frowns, picking up the pillow and places it in her lap. A smile, faint and brief, but a smile nonetheless, touches her lips, and she leans her elbows on the pillow. It doesn't sink with her weight as a pillow should, but she seems to be content for the time being.

"So how does the room work?"

"I set four dimensional coordinates, and it fetches a visual of the location. Everywhere the TARDIS goes, she collects information about our surroundings, and this observatory turns that data into an observable simulation."

She nods, and her eyes roam across the stars again.

"Your last memory is touching the box in the TARDIS."

After a moment of stargazing, she looks at him and nods.

"What do you think happened after that?"

She toys with her hoop earring. "Um. I just remember standing in the console room and you looked so upset, so I wanted to see if you were all right."

His brows draw together. "I see. It was your first jump you said."

"Yeah."

So she doesn't remember finding him. She doesn't remember being left in a parallel world with another him. Does this mean Rose was affected as well? A knot forms in his stomach. He scrubs his hands over his face and aims the sonic again, this time bringing up the nebula created by the Moment's massive explosion.

It blossoms before them in strokes of vibrant red and gold with tinges of purple throughout. There's an aura of billowing turquoise gas surrounding it, making it look a bit like a flower.

"What's this now? It's absolutely massive!"

"It's a nebula. It was created when I launched that box into space and it exploded." He stares at it as they both fall silent and inspects it for evidence of protostar formation. He spies gravitational circulation at its core, the languid coalescing of plasma and gas that will eventually condense and give way to nuclear fusion. The Moment interface said something about becoming a star–well, she got her wish. His eyes follow the outer edge of the billowing blue-green aura to settle on the Rose before him, and how she's painted with the colors of the nebula.

"Did I make it explode? When I touched it, I mean."

Her voice startles him out of his thoughts. "Oh, no. Not at all. If anyone's responsible for this, it's me."

"Did it, um…," she begins, looking down. "Did it hurt anyone?"

"No! Not at all. I've checked–well, up to a certain point in time."

"Could we make sure?"

"Abso-total-utley."

She chuckles, watching him with a coy eye.

"I'll show you the entire life cycle." He aims the sonic without looking, turning on his most dashing smile for her, and the visual around them swirls and darkens, and then brightens again with the light of a single, brilliant star.

"Looks like an ordinary star."

"It is, except for how it came into being." His stomach churns as the pull to finish explaining her existence could no longer be ignored. "And speaking of that. I've figured things out."

She shifted and tilted her head, her gaze resting on him.

"The reason why touching the box is the last thing you remember, is because the interface took an imprint of Rose at that moment. Then, all it needed was a catalyst in the form of my regeneration energy to create you. Rose carried on separately from that event. She must have been pulled back to her universe, because I never saw her; my TARDIS was empty when I returned." Which was for the best, considering the state he was in at that time. It wasn't long after that trip that the Ood had called him to the Oodsphere to tell him his song was ending.

"I'm the imprint."

The Doctor nods. "Born of a human-sentient interface metacrisis."

She furrows her brow, and he watches as she takes several long, measured breaths. She swallows, and when she looks at him this time, her eyes are guarded. "What happened to me? Did I ever find you?"

"Oh, yes! After some time and several more attempts and near-misses." His smile broadens, but there's still a tangle of knots in his stomach. She's holding back.

"Then why am I not here?"

His smile fades. Oh. "She…you wouldn't stay."

She looks at him askance. "Wouldn't, or couldn't?

He swallows hard. "Both. Yes, both."

"How on earth could it be both? Why wouldn't I _want_ to?"

He sees the same fire in her eyes that was there on the beach, and he tears his gaze away from her as his chest constricts. "There was a more fulfilling path available."

"Bollocks. There's nothing more fulfilling in two universes! Please, tell me the truth!"

"Fine." He sighs, wanting nothing more than to have her ability to disappear. "You aren't the only metacrisis event that has happened here. When Rose finally found me again, I was shot by a Dalek, and it triggered a regeneration, but–do you remember the hand I lost to the Sycorax?"

"Yes."

"Jack found it and brought it back to me. I had it aboard the TARDIS, and I redirected my regeneration energy into it, and then Donna, she was travelling with me at the time, she touched it, which created another me. A part human, part Time Lord version of me who could spend the rest of his life with Rose. That's where she is, in the other universe with him."

She covers her mouth with her hand and worry lines crease her brow. "You said he was created using your regeneration energy…"

"Yes. You were created in a similar way."

He went on to explain some of the events leading up to his regeneration, and how the weapon's sentient interface had absorbed his regeneration energy, just like before with his hand–though along with enough radiation to make it unstable. He elaborated more on how he transferred the interface program to the TARDIS before ejecting the box, and how he then discovered the program in her place.

"So, there's another version of you with… with me."

He nods. "She chose him. They're happy together, so."

"I see." She looks down. "You didn't have a choice with me."

The Doctor says nothing as he looks back at the star.

"I would've chosen you." She reaches out to him, her fingers curling over the back of his hand. The touch sends a jolt through him, igniting a flood of memories. A vision of every time they'd ever touched rushes to the forefront of his mind, vying for his attention. He feels her skin, her warm, soft skin, and it's his undoing. He pulls his hand away, and all at once, the flood ebbs.

"You would've made the wrong choice," he says, rising to his feet.

"So it's better to have never found you at all, is that it?" She finally breaks, and her eyes swim with tears that she struggles to keep from falling.

"No!"

She stares at him.

"No," he tries again, softly. "That's not it at all. I'm–I'm so sorry. I'm sorry this happened to you. You never asked for it, and I'm to blame." He swallows.

"Don't blame yourself, Doctor. You couldn't have known, yeah?"

He shakes his head.

Her eyes fall to his hand, and she tilts her head and chews on her lip, working through what she wants to say next. "Could you feel me just then? When I touched you."

"Rose…"

"Nothing at all?"

He sighs.

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

He looks down, unable to look her in the eye. _That's for the best_.

She draws in a shaky breath and rises to her feet. He looks to her just in time to watch her disappear, and he flinches as if she slammed a door. He stamps down his own brimming emotions and aims the sonic to follow the star's lifecycle to its explosive end.

The massive super nova simulation unfurls before him, and his stomach drops. It's one that he has seen before. Oh, he's seen nearly all of them. But this one. This one is special. No, the Moment's explosion and its resulting star hadn't caused any harm in its entire life cycle, but it had enabled him to reach across to the other universe to say goodbye.


	4. Heart to Heart

Thank you to my betas, Kilodalton & AbadPlanWellExecuted! - Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

* * *

Although Rose left the observatory feeling distraught, joy swoops through her when she realizes there'd been a little tug somewhere deep in her mind right before teleporting. She just _knows _that if she focuses enough, she might be able to control it. She smiles and does a little hop as she crosses her room. It's like the world is giving her a tiny bit of proof that she is still part of it, and not just a reflection of someone who used to be. But frustration swoops in to threaten her celebration, and she stops in her tracks. It's just not fair. All she knows is being human. Why couldn't the Moment have given her some inherent knowledge to help her on her path forward? She thinks back to the tugging sensation, and decides she's gonna figure this out on her own.

Curious, she glances over to her en suite and consciously thinks about going there. And there it is, that tug! Maybe if she– too late. She teleports and sighs at her surroundings. The sink, the shower stall, the loo. All things she doesn't need anymore. That notion sobers her, and she glances at herself in the mirror. Her appearance hasn't changed at all since the last time. Still that hardened, weary face in scuffed leather and dark colours, looking older than she feels. She picks at the cuff of her jacket; it's the same she wore on her first jump, she surmises as she pulls down the zip and shrugs out of it. When she tosses it through the doorway to her bed, it vanishes in midair.

"Oh–hadn't expected that."

She sighs. All part of the simulation. Perfect details that mimic reality, but it's becoming clear that the reality is not meant to be viewed from her perspective. All of this–this teleporting at a mere thought, being unable to grab things, disappearing clothes–is definitely not real for her. She's just particles and light, nothing of substance.

"Can't even turn on the bloody faucet." She glares at it as though it's to blame for all of this. The Doctor said that she might be able to move things once she's stopped calibrating, whatever that means. Oh, she knows what the word means, she's not stupid. But what does that mean to the Doctor? Clearly, his mind is still set on her being a hologram. People don't _calibrate._ She'd never be human again. She'd never be _Rose_ to him as long as he thinks of her as something that can calibrate.

Quite suddenly, she has a strong need to have him drop her off to stay with her mum for a few days. Her mum would know just what to do–a warm cuppa and a marathon of some mindless program while they share a bag of crisps. She'd rub her back and know just what to say to get her mind off of things. But, she can't. He can't take her there. Her mum is in the other universe, locked away forever. Rose looks up to drive the threat of tears away. It was a sacrifice she'd been willing to make before, but she's not so sure anymore.

The TARDIS hums, bringing her back to the present and she looks at herself in the mirror and watches herself blink. She hasn't felt the urge to pee all day–or eat for that matter, and she can't really remember when she'd done either last. Not having to do either would be nice for a while, until she misses the taste of marmite or her mum's Christmas ham. And someday she'll sit across from the Doctor in the galley with a full English breakfast before him while she watches, and slowly forgets what eggs taste like.

That thought more than any reignites her determination to not just drift around like a ghost. She can do this. She _will_ interact with the world around her. She places her hand on the countertop, imagining what a countertop should feel like. Cold, hard and smooth. And yeah, she's able to feel it. She smiles a little to herself and opens her eyes, watching the path of her hand as she glides it along the porcelain sink to the faucet knobs. Her fingers dip along the little contours of the knob design, feeling the cool, firm metal. She then flexes her fingers to grip it and twists her wrist, but nothing budges.

The TARDIS's ever-present hum wavers, trying to catch her attention, and she looks up. "Yeah? Thanks for the encouragement, but… guess it's not gonna happen."

The lights dim and brighten, and she feels a soothing sensation flow across the surface of her mind, drawing a smile to her lips. She remembers that feeling from before. Whenever she was down or defeated, the TARDIS would reassure her with such gentle, reassuring nudges. She never totally felt comfortable with letting the time ship have full access to her mind, but just enough for these gestures of friendship and comfort had become a welcome aspect of their bond. It touched her that the ship still respected that boundary, even though she was just a program herself. Made her feel a bit more real.

"Thank you," Rose whispers.

The TARDIS responds with another waver in her humming, and it's different. More urging. Rose tilts her head, sensing that perhaps the TARDIS is trying to tell her something.

The sink turns on and off on its own, and she blinks. It was the TARDIS, she's sure, but the TARDIS had done it without turning the knobs.

"What're you trying to tell me?"

The toilet flushes, and the lights dim and brighten again.

"Now you're just showing off." She smirks, but then something dawns on her. The TARDIS is able to manipulate these things without hands. "Are you saying I can move things without my hands, too?"

The TARDIS hums a reply, and it comes across a bit noncommittal. So, perhaps she's on the right track but hasn't quite figured it out. She tries to budge the knob again, and it doesn't move. This is pathetic–how else can she move things if not with her own hands?

"It's all I know!"

Tears prickle behind her eyes, and she storms out of the en suite to her room and flops on the bed. She rolls over to her back and realises she forgot to turn off the light in the en suite and wishes she could just do it with her mind, even imagines herself doing just that. Why not? She can teleport, why should moving things with her mind be impossible?

"Hang on…" She sits up and looks around, spying an alien rag on the bedside table, a corner sticking off the edge. She scoots to the side of the bed and her heart stutters in her chest when she remembers just why she'd left it open to that page. There's an article about a city she had saved with the Doctor–a nugget of truth amid pages of rubbish. Of course the writer had to fixate on whether the 'mysterious heroes' were romantically involved to tantalize their readers. Rose smiles, remembering how the Doctor's freckles had stood out against the pink tinge in his cheeks as he read, and how he'd squeezed her hand unknowingly until he looked up at her to find she'd leaned in a little closer, eyes focused on his lips. He'd stuffed the rag back in her hands and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck and prattling on about how he needed to go to some planet for some spare part or another.

That night they shared their first dance since he wore leather and gazed at her with intense, blue eyes.

That's it. There's no giving up. She focuses on the magazine as intently as she can as she curves her fingers around its thin spine. Closing her eyes, she envisions picking it up, imagines how the floppiness of the glossy paper will be weighed down by gravity. Instead of thinking of it as an automatic process–as working her muscles–she first works her mind, willing the magazine to be manipulated by her contact. And then, once she feels confident, she lifts her arm in the air.

It shifts slightly, but her hand slips away from it. Her heart hammers in her chest–she definitely felt it move! She tries again, summoning all of the focus and intent she can muster, and lifts her hand to pick up the magazine.

This time, it rises along with her hand, her mind and muscle memory working in tandem. She squeals in excitement and brings the magazine to her chest as she leaps to her feet. "Oh, my God! I did it!"

She runs out of her bedroom door and into the corridor. The Doctor has probably left the observatory, so she considers her options. The console room is the most likely possibility, and she imagines walking there as she takes a few steps down the corridor. She grins, proud of herself, as she bypasses that tugging urge and consciously decides to _walk_ there. Step after step, she moves, envisioning it as she goes. Eventually it becomes second nature (she suspects the TARDIS extended her corridor journey to give her time to master it), and she doesn't have to think about it anymore.

When she arrives, she's relieved that the Doctor is there and she doesn't have to go on a mad hunt for him. He's standing before the monitor, shoulders hunched as he leans his hands on the edge of the console. She walks forward but skirts a bit to the side to get a clearer view of his face. She doesn't want to bother him, especially after upsetting him in the observatory. Images flicker by on the screen and illuminate his face, his hair. It's going by too rapidly for her to see what he's studying, but she focuses instead on his set jaw, the deep dimple in his cheek, and his furrowed brow. There's a softness in his eyes that belies an undercurrent of sorrow he's trying his best to ignore in that cage of a glare.

She's not sure if he notices her presence, and she rolls the rag in her hand, thinking it might be best to talk to him about it later. She looks down at it and turns to go when she hears him clear his throat.

"Don't go."

Rose looks up, struck by the tremor in his voice. "Okay. I mean, I can come back if you're busy."

"I've got all the time in the world now," he says as he turns towards her with a wink and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Still the same ol' me."

"Yeah, that's," she sucks in a breath–that's good? Oh, how awful would that sound? _Sorry you're suffering, but at least you're still just the face I've grown to love?_ She decides not to label it and waves the thought away entirely. "Look." She brandishes the magazine, unable to hold back her grin. There's a little guilt she feels for smiling when he's so down, and she bites on her lip.

"What–oh! OH!" He bounds over to her, long limbs all unwieldy with excitement, and his smile deepens to something much more genuine. It makes her heart leap up and nudge a laugh from her lips.

"You've done it!" His hands hover around it, not touching, but as if to behold something sacred. His eyes are wide with wonder, and the tip of his tongue presses against his top teeth.

"Watch this." She takes it with both hands and flips it open, letting the pages fan out.

"Blimey, you've done it." He stands up straight and tilts his head as he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. "Rose Tyler, I knew you could."

Her heart flutters at the sound of her name rolling off of his tongue. He swallows and his eyes drift away from her.

"How'd you figure it out?"

"Yeah, I just sort of, um, focus. I picture myself picking it up, visualize it, yeah? And then I grab and lift, and it worked! Not at first, mind. Had to try it a couple times, but I did it."

"Brilliant! You'll be making toast and tying shoe strings in no time." He rocks back on his heels and then swivels around to head back to the console.

"The TARDIS, she sort of suggested it." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thing is, not really sure what it is I'm doing."

"Telekinesis, most likely," he says, sliding on his specs. He leans towards the screen with a focused squint.

"Like a superhero?"

"Like a super-advanced holographic, artif–er," he pushes the glasses up on his nose as he diverts his statement, "young woman."

She half wonders what he was going to say before glancing at the screen as she joins him, tossing the old rag to the jump seat on the way. "What's up?"

"Mm? Oh. I'm studying your program. I mean, not–it's not like that. I promise I'm not snooping." He glances at her and then back at the screen. "I just want to see if I can find anything to indicate whether… whether Rose was affected."

"Why d'you think something bad could've happened to her?" She tilts her head and looks at the screen along with him.

The Doctor closes his eyes and swallows thickly. "Because, when the other Doctor was created, it almost killed Donna. I had to… I had to take her memories of me and our travels to keep her safe and alive."

Rose feels a lot like the blood she doesn't even have drains from her face. "How fast did it start to affect her?"

"Oh, right away."

"But you saw me again, and I was okay. I hadn't been harmed, yeah?" The guilt is like a heavy weight, pulling her down. Her own voice sounds so far away.

"As far as I knew."

"You think you'll be able to tell from my program?"

"Nope." He pops the 'p' and switches the visual on the screen to something else. "Worth trying. Meanwhile, I'm analyzing the spatial-temporal matrix to make sure this universe isn't being eaten alive by reapers. You remember those nasty buggers? Find it hard to believe such a paradox will go unavenged." The last bit is spoken more to himself.

"Why reapers?" She shudders inwardly at visions of wide, leathery wings and grotesque, sharp-toothed maws.

"Because I didn't change."

"And you were supposed to."

He nods, and she can't see his eyes for the reflections from the screen.

"How do you know?"

"I met myself. My future self."

"But your future self wouldn't tell you how you become him, yeah?"

The Doctor stands up straight. "No. No, he wouldn't."

"So, how do you know that this wasn't always supposed to happen?"

He looks at her for a long moment, though she knows he's not really seeing her. He's seeing his thoughts painted in the air between them. She takes a step towards him, and he blinks out of his trance.

"No." He looks back at the monitor. "Something's wrong. I was in my–his–TARDIS, and–well."

"But–"

"I'd know if you were there, and you weren't. And I could feel it… the timelines, they–" He sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. "They were frayed; had a recent beginning. This is… No. Yes–wait." He puts his fingers to his temples. "Is it? This is a new universe? That's a… that's, well. It's something."

"Then how could it be a paradox? New universe, think it'd have its own rules."

He waves a hand around dismissively. "This is all just conjecture. Too early to tell, so, sticking to the paradox problem until I know otherwise. Occam's razor; better to be safe." When he returns to the monitor this time, he curses under his breath. "There's not a single way to tell."

There's a beat of silence between them, and the humming of the TARDIS sounds louder than usual. He sighs and scrubs his hands up his face to rub his eyes, pushing his glasses askew.

"All this time I thought she was safe forever," he says quietly. After a moment of still reflection, he resumes his single-minded quest, fingers punching in a command. She senses the conversation is over, and she looks down at her feet.

She knows he's talking about the other Rose, and her heart aches behind the barrier of silence he builds between them. It aches with empathy, for she knows the pain of being separated from him with no way of knowing if he's okay. It aches with jealousy. She's still just a simulation in his eyes, and he's focusing all of his energy on the woman he views as the real Rose. That's so petty, ain't it? Jealous of herself. She feels her face pinching into a scowl and relaxes it before he can see her.

More than anything, she wants to reassure him. To just reach out and take his hand, though with what happened last time, well, she'd better not. But holding back is more painful than she can bear. Her mind reels with alternatives, and the first idea that surfaces is something he'd never agree to. She exhales, marveling for a moment that she even can. She looks down at her hands and finds them trembling, feels the brittle sting of tears in her eyes and the lump in her throat. Nothing about this feels like a hologram.

"There's something we can do." She clenches her fists and feels the bite of her nails against her palm, wishing she could cast off her emotions and watch them disappear like her jacket had done.

"I don't really fancy chips right now."

"No, not that." She exhales, pulling herself together. "We can go back and keep all this from happening. S'just me and you here, and you said no one was harmed by the star. So, yeah, I think that's-that's what we should do. I'm all right with it. I won't even know I existed."

"Can't. It's impossible."

"You always say that! How is it impossible_ this_ time?"

"The star had to happen." He turns to her fully as her trip around the central column brings her back in his line of sight. He swallows and breathes in and out through his nose. "The star always happened. It goes supernova, and–well. It had to happen."

"But–but I didn't always happen." She approaches him, feeling more certain. "We can fix that bit. Go back and keep me from finding the TARDIS on that tropical island."

There's a flicker of relief in his eyes, but it dissipates in a snap. "No. Too much of a risk."

"There has to be a way!" He always does this! More than anything she wants to know what happened to her other self when she was summoned back to the other universe after touching the box, if not for her own need to define herself, then for the Doctor. So he knows she's safe; to know the sentient weapon hadn't harmed the Rose he cares for by creating a copy of her. She slams her hands down on the console in frustration and anger and grief.

A jolt sizzles through her, and all she sees is a flash of golden light before everything goes dark.

When she opens her eyes, she's staring up at a too-bright sky. She shields her eyes and rolls over to sit up, finding herself in a vast field of wildflowers. They're all colours of the rainbow, and they undulate as gusts of wind sweep across them.

"Where the hell am I?"

She catches a flicker of light out of the corner of her eye and looks at her forearm. There are patches of translucence on her skin, with thin circuitry pathways branching through like veins. Tiny lights race along the pathways, and she tears her eyes away from the horror of seeing herself for what she really is. Her pulse increases and she wants to scream that she has no bloody pulse, but she can _feel_ it, along with a prickle of fear up her spine.

Her eyes settle on a figure in the distance that she didn't notice before. She blinks hard and squints through the bright sun, trying to discern who it could be.

"Hello?" she calls, but her voice is engulfed by the wind.

The figure seems to notice her presence as well, and begins to walk towards her.

"Doctor!"

There's no reply but an echo this time.

Rose pulls herself forward, and each step is like wading through high water. The sun glares overhead and sends shards of light across her field of vision, obscuring her surroundings until she's cast into a pure white void.

The other person is there too, and they continue to walk towards each other. When they're close, Rose gasps as she recognizes her own windswept blonde hair, too-wide jaw, and dark eyes. Finally, as they're a within conversation distance, the other Rose's expression turns wary.

"I don't remember this," the other Rose says, looking her over. "Where's the Doctor?"

Rose's mouth opens and closes as she struggles to think of what to say.

The other Rose takes a guarded stance. "Where am I? Go on, say something!"

"Why are you wearing a summer frock?" It was a stupid first question to ask herself.

"Ah, so you can talk. Tell me how I got here, and who are you?"

Rose looks up and around with a shrug. "No idea, sorry. I don't even know where _here_ is. One moment I was in the TARDIS, and the next–"

"So was I," the other Rose says, regarding her with a skeptical eye. "But I haven't looked like you since before when I was…," She swallows and takes a step closer. "So, this has to have already happened. I just don't remember."

"I don't think this could've ever happened." Rose closes her eyes a moment when she senses a distant sound. It's like the hum of the TARDIS. "And I'm sure I've never owned that frock."

"But you look like some kind of… I dunno. Some kind of machine."

Rose looks down at herself. The translucent patches in her body have spread and grown. They flicker and disappear, only to reappear again, like a worn out neon light. She also feels off. Hard to put a finger on it, but there's definitely something going wrong to cause the glitches in her appearance. She frowns and looks back up at the other Rose, but notices something beyond her. Something faint and tall.

"What's that?" She rushes towards it, feeling it pull her like a kite on a string, and the closer she gets, the more solid it becomes.

It's a tree. A massive tree that stretches up to the white void overhead. Its branches, full of leaves, reveal themselves as though she's painting it to life with her eyes. She looks down to the gnarled roots that fan out from the trunk and into solid earth. Turning back to the other Rose, she sees they are now in a dense forest, with this tree the largest of them all.

"Blimey," the other Rose says, joining her.

"Listen." Rose leans to the tree and places her hand on its rough surface. It's a heartbeat, sure and strong, and she can feel the pulse vibrate through the trunk. "We're in the Heart of the TARDIS."

She's not sure how she knows, or how to verify the statement, but it's a truth as solid as a tea kettle. There was that hum before, and now there's a reassuring presence brushing over the surface of her mind. She smiles and looks back at the other Rose, who appears to have come to the same conclusion, her hand also resting on the trunk of the tree.

"The TARDIS can bring us together," Rose says, marveling at the future version of herself in the frock and white thongs.

"I'm still not sure what's going on."

"I think I know now. You're in the other universe with the other Doctor, yeah? And you've got a TARDIS somehow."

The other Rose nods, brows furrowing. "And you're from my past when I was still looking for him."

"Not-not quite. I mean, yes, that's sort of true, but do you remember going into the TARDIS on your first jump? And there was that box."

"Yeah." She shudders and wraps her arms around herself. "Awful thing."

Rose bites her lip, sensing her discomfort. She looks down at her feet as guilt strikes her stomach, making her feel heavy. She takes a steadying breath as she pulls together the words to explain. Just as she opens her mouth, a tremor of static flows over her body, and the translucent patches of circuitry on her arms and torso brighten, spark, and then fade away.

The other Rose steps forward and reaches out. "You all right, then? What's happening?"

"Forget it." She shakes her head and takes another deep breath. "Listen, there's something you have a right to know about what happened when you touched that box."

The other Rose hangs back, her hand still on the tree. "All right, go on and tell me."

"When you–it made you touch it, it took an imprint of you. Thoughts, memories, feelings, DNA… everything like that. It stored it until it had the right kind of energy to create a copy of you. And that's who I am."

"Right kind of energy. You mean regeneration energy–he did that. That's how he made… So, he's regenerated, then?"

"No." She laughs at the absurdity of it all. "No, the box absorbed the energy and radiation that was killing him."

"Completing the process and creating you."

She nods and glances up the trunk of the tree. "I had just been talking to the Doctor. He's worried sick that you could've been affected. I wanted so badly to be able to know, to reassure him. Then I touched the console and…. Well, I suppose I teleported here. Probably brought you here, too."

"I don't think I have, been affected that is… unless you count this. I was just talking to the Doctor myself. We were getting ready to take our TARDIS on its first voyage." She smiles briefly. "I gotta go back."

"So, you… You have your own TARDIS?"

"Yeah! Um… the Doctor, he gave himself a chunk of TARDIS coral so we could grow our own. And we have. It's… it took the form of a workshop cabinet the moment it matured." She smiles, and lines fan out from the corners of her eyes. It's the first time Rose realises that this Rose is older. Not just from her future, but aged. A quick glance at her hand confirms that there's an engagement ring and wedding band on her finger, and Rose closes her eyes as tears fill them.

"What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"To see him again for the first time." She opens her eyes as the tears slip down her face. She wipes them away quickly and ducks her head, feeling silly for crying in front of her older self, who clearly has herself together. "Was he happy to see you?"

The other Rose squints at her in confusion. "You don't know?"

"No. I only remember up to touching the box. Anything after is separate from you." She sniffles and swipes a long strand of hair from her face. "I don't think he was happy to see _me_. So. I just want to know."

"He was, yeah. He ran to me with this massive grin. I'm not sure if I've ever seen him run that fast." She smiles, looking off in the distance at the memory. "I ran to him too, of course. Happiest moment of my life–but he was shot by a Dalek in the road before we could reach each other, and that's how he began to regenerate."

Rose nods, unable to keep the tears at bay once gain. "And now you're with the other him and you're happy together."

"We have our moments, but, yeah. Ten years later." She frowns despite the joyful tone of her story, and reaches out towards her arm. "What's wrong?"

Rose backs away a step. "Best not." She flinches as another tremor of static hits her. This one takes longer to go away, and the blotches in her image widen further.

The other Rose regards her pensively for a beat. "My husband is part Time lord, part human, on account of the metacrisis. Sounds like you were created in a similar way, so… what, what was that box?"

"A super weapon created by ancient Time Lords that could destroy a galaxy. It had an interface system that developed sentience. So. Part holographic interface program, that's me." She looks up at the other Rose coolly in an attempt to affect control over her rioting emotions.

The other Rose nods and inhales deeply. "Why would it use me that way?"

"I… I don't know. I don't remember ever being that box. But–"

"So in a sense, I'm with the other Doctor." She looks up to meet Rose's eyes.

"I, um. He doesn't quite see me as he used to," Rose says, toying with her hoop earring and averting her eyes. "Like he'd see you." She catches sight of her arm, of her deteriorating image and drops her hand to her side abruptly. "Hasn't been long at all since I was created."

The other Rose wets her lips with her tongue, her hand drifting along the bark. "I think I understand a bit of why, but give him some time."

"You aren't upset at me?"

"Wha? Why would I be?"

"That box–it, it took things from you without… And, and I'm here and now there's this, this–" She begins to pace, doing her best to avoid tripping over roots. "This potentially catastrophic paradox about to rip everything apart, 'cos the Doctor was _supposed_ to regenerate, but he didn't, and it's my fault. It's all my fault. You're here–I pulled you here. I'm sure of it. You didn't ask for that either, so what am I but a-a thing. Just a hologram that could destroy the–yeah. Yeah, I am part galaxy-destroying weapon. Makes a load of sense now."

"But you didn't do all that. You're not that box anymore, yeah? You said yourself. You don't remember. You became me, and so, that's who you are now. You're me, and I'm you."

Rose shakes her head, long fringe falling across her eye. "You just tell me right now. Tell me if you don't want me to be here and I'll–when I go back, I'll figure out how to delete myself. I'm run by a program, did I tell you? I'm a bloody machine!"

"Hey–okay, listen. I haven't really thought about that in a long time. I told the Doctor that I found the TARDIS once and there was a box, but he didn't remember any box, and I thought it was best to drop it. He pressed a bit, wanted to run some tests and didn't find anything. I didn't really think anything had happened anyway. I feel fine, yeah? It's all right. I'm okay. I'm safe."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah! Maybe I can meet you here without being harmed when we're both in the TARDIS, and that's what it did. Not so bad, yeah? Look, maybe I can give you the rest of my memories Would that–"

"No, I… no. Those are yours to keep. I'll make new ones, and, yeah. I think that's best."

The other Rose nods. "All right."

"Mind if… mind if I tell him you're okay?"

"Sure. Is–how is he?"

Rose looks down. "He's… not doing well. He's sad. And he's worried."

"But he has you now."

Rose looks up at her. "He has you."

"Yes."

"Yeah."

"He'll be okay." She smiles. "You'll figure things out, and… yeah."

Rose takes a long look at her older self, at the wisdom in her eyes and the gentle reassurance in her smile. She could be upset. Upset and hurt that a mere copy of her gets to spend time with the Time Lord Doctor, a man she once crossed universes to find. But, she's not. Instead, she… she's happy. She's content with her life, with the half-human Doctor, and views this whole situation with a level-headedness beyond Rose's ability to muster.

Feeling stronger, and just a bit more hopeful, Rose steps closer to her older self and leans against the tree. "I'm glad I got to meet you."

"Me too."

"I suppose I… suppose I should let you go back to your maiden voyage." Rose smiles.

"Yeah, the Doctors are definitely worried about us." She grins. "Maybe I'll see you again?"

"Maybe." She gives a little wave, still smiling.

"Bye!" As the other Rose lets go of the trunk of the tree, she fades out of sight.

Rose is left alone in the primordial forest. The heartbeat of the enormous tree soothes her, and she presses her ear against it, imagining that this single tree held the entire universe together. Wanting to rest, she sits down on a root when a painful shock strikes her. She looks down at her hands in time to see them sizzle and spark, and then everything fades to nothing.

When she opens her eyes this time, she's staring up at the domed ceiling of the TARDIS console, the glowing central column in her periphery. The Doctor's face appears over her, and she hears the trill of his sonic as he sweeps it up her body.

"There you are! You disappeared, and I started to get these bizarre readings, and I wasn't sure what happened. Where did you go? What happened?" He said, his dark eyes boring into hers, eyebrows tilted in deep concern.

"Doctor," Rose says, a faint smile drifting to her lips. "I'm… I saw her. Rose."

He looks down at the sonic. "You're damaged. Badly so. Probably hallucinating."

"I wasn't, it was real." Rose pushes herself up and realizes she'd been lying on the jump seat. The Doctor watches her from his knees by her side, swaying backwards so he's careful not to touch her.

"You appeared here," he says, concern returning. "Whatever happened, it caused extensive damage. Rose, you–don't do it again, whatever it was." He looks down at his sonic again. "Please, don't ever."

The sheer euphoria that fills her up to the top of her head at his concern for her safety makes her smile, and her smile makes him tilt his head and give her that adorably puzzled expression that makes her want to wrap her arms around him and breathe him in like there could ever be anything else in the entire universe more fulfilling than being in his arms. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip instead, and closes her eyes, imagining it in as much detail as she can.

"I was in the heart of the TARDIS," she admits, licking her lips. "She's all right, Doctor. I'm all right, and I'm with you and we're married. The TARDIS, it's fully operational, and…"

The Doctor's expression goes blank at her words, and he doesn't even blink.

"She's safe." And she just can't help it. She reaches up to touch his face, to cradle his cheek in her hand, and it feels like coming home.


	5. Till the Universe Dissolves

Thank you to my beta, Kilodalton. Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing, your comments mean a lot to me. :) The title of this chapter is from a poem by Rumi.

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The Doctor's mind surges with a replay of her memories from the heart of the TARDIS at the slightest brush of her fingers against his face. He reels from the intensity and falls back on his hands, sonic skittering across the grated floor, as images of his precious Rose flood his brain. His hearts nearly burst in his chest as he focuses on every detail. Her hair, partially pinned back with combs, hangs around her bare shoulders, the ends curling against the dip of her clavicle. The rings on her finger glint in the small ribbons of sunlight that filter through the leaves above, and he knows the other him is the one who gave them to her. Who else would've known how to twist Vellsharian platinum into such a specific, Gallifreyan pattern around meteorite crystals from the Thresee galaxy? (Just what else had he been stowing in his blue suit pockets, he wonders). His stomach knots and his hearts clench as both relief and regret grapple for dominance. He's sure he made walking away from her look so easy, but if there's one thing he's learnt how to do over the centuries, it's to pretend.

Her dress is pale blue denim, and gathered at the waist, with a trim of white lace around the hemline. He knows they're heading for Barcelona—Spain, not the planet—and in the seventies, from the look of her. Precisely where he would've taken her. Somewhere warm and ancient and far away from the cold ocean of Norway.

His hands tremble with desire to reach out and feel the soft curve of her bare shoulder. Her skin is glowing, her eyes bright and warm. She's happy and healthy and everything that he isn't, and he chokes out her name. The aching and longing and the need to be held by her rush to consume him like fire, all filling his veins and making his hearts race and it's just too much to bear. He fumbles around for the sonic and springs to his feet, chest heaving as he braces himself against the console.

It takes several moments for her memories to play out to their completion, and once it's over, he's dizzy with grief and joy, a bizarre blend that addles him, but it's one he'll have to grow used to. Shaking his head with eyes squeezed shut, he tries to bring himself back to the present. His sights settle back on the Rose on the jump seat when he opens them. She's trying to sit up, her face stricken with alarm, but a shockwave of energy bolts through her and she flickers in and out of existence. The translucent patches of dancing lights that riddle her body glow brighter and she winces and collapses back against the jump seat, fists clenched at her sides.

"Rose!" The Doctor swoops down again to kneel next to her, his sonic out to take readings. It whirrs loudly and singes the pads of his fingers with a jolting current, and he realizes it's because he'd been squeezing it too tightly to keep himself from touching her, the urge following him from her memories. He cries out with a curse, switching it to his other hand, and resumes his task more carefully. "Please, you musn't ever do that again."

"I'm sorry. I—I was so happy to see you. I wasn't thinking." Her cheeks are red with shame and she looks away, drawing the hand she touched him with across her stomach, where she fists her shirt.

He's confused at first, certain he hadn't been in her memories, until he glances down at her hand. The hand she'd touched him with. "No, I mean… don't go into the heart of the TARDIS again," he says gently. "It nearly destroyed you."

She looks up at him, her hand relaxing and her brows drawing together. "I had to—I mean, I didn't mean to at first, but once I realized what'd happened, where I was and who I was with, I had to make sure she was okay."

"But why?"

"For you. You've been so worried."

"Rose…"

"It didn't hurt her. I promise. She didn't seem to be in pain or anything."

"She's protected by the Heart. It's something I discovered while you were away," the Doctor says, looking at his sonic. "Always will be. Ever since they joined."

Rose stares at him in silence, her head canted forward as if waiting for him to say something else.

"What?"

There's a resigned sigh and she sits up. "Can you stop referring to us as two separate people?"

"But, you are." He tilts his head and looks up. "Well, after a point."

"Yeah, and we weren't back then. Back when I…" She takes in a deep breath and shakes her head. "So I should be protected, yeah? But, guess I'm not."

"Oooh, right. Sorry." He sniffs as he changes a setting on the sonic and sweeps it over her worst injury. "You're powered by it, so this is more like feedback, or a short circuit." He stands and turns towards the console, where he works to isolate the last bit of damage in her programming causing her malfunction. He turns back around to see that she's no longer flickering, and the blotches are beginning to fade. It draws a smile to his lips.

"How do you feel?"

She holds her head. "Better, yeah. Thank you. How long was I gone?"

"Couple hours. Might not have seemed like that long for you."

"Hours? Blimey."

"I thought you'd just popped back to your room until I started getting warnings on the monitor. Then you reappeared here looking like…like—"

"Like a freak? Like some kinda digital ghost?" There's a bit of a bite in her voice. "Yeah, I look bloody awful."

"You're mending up, though." He flashes her a grin that slips as his brows draw together in concern. "You'll also need to rest. It takes a lot of energy to heal from such a traumatic injury. Maybe have a lie down. Watch a bit of telly, you know. I could pop over to a London chippy and—well. I would, but…" He frowns.

"It's okay. I know." She gazes at him as she stands, face flushed and her pupils wide and dark.

He tilts his head, eyebrow lifting. What did he say? Why is she looking at him as though he'd just recited Rumi against her neck? _You and I will be together until the universe dissolves_. The words pound against his chest, and it's really not making any sense why there's suddenly this heady atmosphere surrounding them. His throat grows rather dry, and he swallows, envisioning the Rose from the heart of the TARDIS, the soft fabric of her dress brushing against her thighs. He blinks and refocuses on the Rose before him. Her leather jacket is gone, bearing the gleam of a silver chain that disappears beneath the neckline of her maroon shirt.

They move closer to each other, and he knows under normal circumstances, he'd dive in for the greatest, strongest hug he could muster to celebrate that she's okay and he's still alive and they're still together. But these are far from normal circumstances. In fact, if he lets himself think about it too long (too late for that), they could be downright dire. His eyes drift over her, memorizing every digital wound, and he hates himself for bringing the bloody Moment on the TARDIS. He hates that Rose has to live like this without having had any choice in the matter. His fists clench and the sonic zaps him again.

"GAH!" He shakes his hand and sucks through his teeth.

"What? What happened?" She zeroes in on his hand.

"Nothing. Pressed the wrong thing," he says as he jams the sonic back in his suit pocket.

"Oh."

"Rose Tyler," he says, voice trailing as he wraps his own acknowledgement around the sound of her name paired with the woman before him. He was going to apologize for… for everything. Again, probably. But he loses himself in the concern in her eyes and all of his thoughts scatter.

They're even closer now. Perfect hand-holding distance, but they both stand there with their arms at their sides. And yet, their eyes are locked as though if they stare long enough, they'll be able to feel each other's embrace. Rose is the one who breaks it as she licks her lips, drawing his attention to the innocent little motion.

"What?" It takes him a moment to realize _he_ was the one who spoke. His eyes dart back up to hers.

She shakes her head, and a small, cheeky smile nudges her lips. "Nothing. Think I'll go watch telly for a while. Yeah, that sounds nice. Sounds normal."

"Oh! Good idea. Don't we still need to finish off that, ah, the twenty-second century remake of _Firefly_?" he asks, rocking back on his heels as he smiles.

She bites her nail. "Oh, yeah. We were watching it before," she pauses, glancing down. "Before Canary Wharf."

"Yep." His smile sticks, thankfully. He really doesn't want to go down yet another rabbit hole of self-loathing at the moment, so he keeps his body language buoyant and welcoming. For her.

Her face brightens. "You'll come with me?"

"Of course! Unless you wanted to be alone?"

"No, I'd love you to come!" A smile threatens to emerge, but she looks askance, her eyelashes forming a shadow that brushes across her cheek. She purses her lips together to repress the smile, and that nearly broke his hearts. Why ever would she feel the need to do that?

"Good." He swallows, wanting to brush his thumb over her cheek until she turns her eyes back up to him, but shoves his hands in his trouser pockets instead. What's gotten into him? She's a hologram. She's not… she isn't— He pictures his human Rose from the memories, her hair longer and wavy and the colour of honey in sunlight, strands rustling gently in a drifting breeze. He sees the unmistakable spark in her eyes that reassures him that she had everything she could ever want out of life. He hears the words she spoke to this Rose replaying like a message meant for him to hear.

_'You became me, and so, that's who you are now. You're me, and I'm you.' _

_'He has you now.'_

Sighing, he lets a seed of acceptance take root in his hearts. How could he defend with his last breath that he and the other Doctor are the same man, and question the same about the metacrisis Rose? How could he find peace in knowing that somewhere in the multiverse, he and Rose are living a life he never thought he could have, whilst rejecting that the same possibility could be unfolding for him right here? Being unable to touch this Rose without instantly accessing thoughts and memories and sensations made it more difficult. It was too much. Too untamed, and he could very well become drunk on it if he let down his guard.

He felt the hum of the TARDIS wash through his mind, reassuring him that he had her help.

"You all right, Doctor?"

He blinks and inhales deeply. "Yeah."

"I didn't teleport." Rose grins. "When I mentioned going to watch telly. I felt the tug, and ignored it." She takes a few steps.

"That's brilliant, Rose." He returns her smile and then takes a long step to be by her side. "Are you okay to walk?"

"Yeah, think so."

"Good."

They begin walking and he glances her way every now and then, reassuring himself that she's all right. She's not flickering anymore, though he can tell the healing has slowed.

"Some rest will definitely help," he says out loud, quite unintentionally.

A smile returns to her lips. "You say that like I'm not a hologram." Her eyes dart up to him.

"Well, you're part human. I keep saying you're more than just a hologram."

She inhales, the smile deepening as her pace picks up a little. After a moment, she slows and tilts her head. "Did it hurt? When I touched you."

"No. Why?"

"You practically jumped out of the TARDIS when I... I thought maybe it burns. Though, you didn't feel anything at all, yeah?"

He frowns, but before he can respond, they reach the door to the media room and it opens with a _shhhk_ at their approach. He gestures for her to enter before him, and then he follows her, taking in the slightly untidy state Donna had left it in long ago. There's a mug of cold tea on the end table, a bowl of half-eaten, stale popcorn on the sofa, and an Agatha Christie book lying next to it, opened and page-side down. Her favourite hand-knit blanket is strewn across the cushions, and he's sure if he opens the media center programme, it'll be set to whatever she was watching last. He stands there, hands deep in his pockets, as he tries to shake off visions of the anguished look on Donna's face as he removed her memories. He'll always hate himself for that.

Rose takes a seat on the sofa before the telly, propping her feet up on the ottoman and pulling the blanket over her body. It takes her a few tries, but she manages to grip it and yank it over herself, and she smiles proudly at the successful result. She then spies the mug, popcorn, and the book, casts a concerned glance his way. Not wanting to delve into it, he crosses the room to the media center and turns it on, keeping his back to her. There's nothing about the outcome with Donna that she can reassure him about, and he's not in the mood to have her feel sorry for him when he doesn't deserve it.

He leans over to turn on the telly, casting the thought into a deeper compartment in his mind for the time being. As predicted, when the telly blinks to life it's still on a cooking channel from the planet Faydir that Donna had been watching that day. He recalls her scandalized, yet hilarious reactions to the ingredients as navigates to the programme he'd been watching with Rose all that time ago. Once he queues up the last episode, he unbuttons his suit jacket and slides it off, tosses it on the nearby chair, and unbuttons and rolls up his shirtsleeves.

When he turns around, Rose's line of sight shifts up to his face rather abruptly. He lifts an eyebrow as a blush spreads across her cheeks, and words rush from her mouth in that way humans do to deflect suspicion.

"So, ah, why is it that I can sit on sofas and hold a pillow, but it takes a lot of effort to pick up anything up? That's weird, yeah?" She gives him a sheepish smile, bottom lip tucked under her teeth.

He smirks a little. "I dunno. Maybe it's 'cause being part Rose, you're programmed to be a bit of a layabout."

Rose's mouth drops open and she scoffs. She reaches for the bowl of stale popcorn. "Keep it up. I need to practice my aim."

His smirk grows into a proper grin, and a little giggle escapes from the back of his throat.

"Shut up." Her mouth twists as she tries not to laugh along with him.

It feels somewhat like before, with the wayward glances and playful banter. He can even feel himself relax into it, and it's a bit like taking off his shoes at the end of a long day of running. He sits down on the far end of the sofa and picks up a book from his to-read pile as the opening credits play.

"Gonna give me a proper answer?"

He looks at her before he slides his specs into place on his nose. "Oh, sorry." He pauses the episode. "It appears to just be part of the programme, and anything else is going to take work. You're projected, so no doubt the projection sensors acknowledge your environment and your, ah… image compensates for it. The sensors operate separately from your cerebral cortex, so they don't necessarily function based on the intentions that're in your mind. That's where your human side comes in."

"My projection sensors and cerebral cortex, eh? You sure do know how to make a girl feel special." And it's her turn to smirk.

"I know." He waggles his eyebrows and then scrunches up his face. "Wait—er, I didn't mean—gah!" She's giggling now, and he shakes his head in defeat.

"So, I have a brain?"

"Yeah! Imagine that."

"Oi! Stop it, will you?"

He grins and holds his hands up. "Sorry, sorry. That one was too easy, you have to admit." Twisting towards her, he rests the ankle of one leg on the knee of his other and drapes his arm on the back of the sofa, gesturing mildly with his hands as he explains. "The brain works on an intricate system of electrical impulses. A highly advanced piece of technology like the Moment would be capable of capturing that system from Rose and translating it into part of its programme."

She looks away from him, all humour in her face fleeing in an instant. "Right." She begins picking at the knitting of the blanket, and eventually she's able to get it between her fingers.

He tugs on his ear, puzzled at how she brushes off direct, albeit affectionate, insults, but appears hurt by his innocent explanation. "Did I—"

"S'nothing." She shrugs a shoulder and shakes her head.

"Tell me."

She doesn't reply at first, just takes a shaky breath and rolls her eyes.

"Please?"

"You're never gonna see me for who I am, are you? Artificial intelligence. That's what you were gonna call me earlier. And you said I calibrate and I'm a programme and—it's just—it hurts, okay? I didn't ask to become this. That thing forced me to touch it, and now I'm split in two forever."

"Rose, I—"

"Do you know what happens when I take off my clothes?" She laughs mirthlessly. "They disappear. Bet I can't put on real clothes. But it's convenient, yeah? I can just think myself into a raincoat and wellies if it's pouring outside. Ain't that the life?" She looks up, her eyes filling with tears, but they dry as she stares at the ceiling. Her mouth pinches together to keep her lip from trembling and he wishes for about the millionth time that he could pull her into his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Rose. So, so sorry." He reaches for her, but withdraws and takes a measured breath. She doesn't seem to notice. "No, it's not fair and I know you didn't ask for this."

Her eyes well up with tears. She blinks one away, and he scoots a little closer to her as if that could begin to make up for not being able to wipe her tears away with his own hands.

"Please don't forget all the times I acknowledged you _are _real. How many times I said you're mending or healing or need to rest. I distinctly remember _stopping_ myself from saying you're calibrating or artificial. Still. I don't blame you for feeling that way, or not noticing. Not at all. You have every right to question me, but you can't make the digital part of you go away if you pretend it isn't there."

Her eyes have returned to him, and though they're filled with hurt, there's also a good deal of veneration.

He continues, his voice laden with sincerity. "I'm here for you; I'll take the blame for all of it. I'll help you figure things out, Rose. You're not going to be in this alone, all right? You made me better, and I'll do the same for you."

The hurt in her expression dissolves further, and she nods a little.

"There are many things we don't know about how you function—sorry, felt it was better than operate." He pauses, but she waves her hand.

"S'okay."

He nods. "And I know that not knowing has to feel like you're lost at sea. But If I don't know an answer, I'll do everything in my power to find it out."

"Thank you," she says softly, her hands twisting in her lap.

"It's my honour, Rose."

She bites her lip and laughs a little. "Stop it."

He can't help but feel a swell of pride at the blush in her cheeks. "Too mushy?

She pinches the air, leaving a couple centimeters of space between her fingers, and her smile deepens for a moment.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Won't happen again."

"So, uh, how is it I can feel things, then? I'm touching this blanket, and it feels like yarn. When I touched you, it felt—"

He clears his throat. "Sensorial memory. Genius, really. Maybe we should get back to watching? You need rest." He unpauses the episode and cringes inwardly at his abrupt reaction. If _he_ notices it, she has to.

"I'm resting! But, fine." She sighs and glances at the telly to watch for a moment, a line forming between her brows. They don't get very far in before she speaks up again.

"You said it didn't feel like anything when I touched you, though. Doesn't make sense for a hologram to be able to feel but not be felt, since we're not even supposed to be alive. Not too genius if you ask me."

"Well, ah, I never, ehm…," his words trail off. There's no way she'll be able to rest if she keeps getting upset.

"You never what?" Rose prompts, shifting so she's angled towards him.

"Er… well, on Gallifrey, holograms were meant to be alive. The consciousness of a deceased loved one could be uploaded and projected as a hologram forever, if they wanted. Or they could stay in a sort of supercomputer as part of a collective mind that could be accessed when needed. Take your pick. So, it's not surprising that you're able to feel yarn."

Rose sighs. "Interesting, but that's not what you were gonna say. You never _what,_ Doctor?"

"Look, you need to rest, we can talk about this stuff another time."

"Is it that bad?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I never said you couldn't be felt. Your mental shields just need to do a lot of strengthening."

"Oh." She touches her forehead with her fingertips as her brow furrows in confusion. "But, what's that got to do with touching? Do you hear my thoughts? You're not making any sense."

"No, no. Only if… you see, I'm a touch telepath, remember? When you touch me, I can see inside of your mind and I shouldn't be able to so easily."

"Ah. So you read my thoughts, but you can't feel me."

"I can. I never said I didn't feel you, all right? I just don't want to. That's it. End of story, can we please watch now?"

Her lips part and she's taken aback, the hurt in her eyes making his hearts sink. She tears her eyes away from him and glares at the television, her face hardening as her mind unpacks what he said. The Doctor's gaze falls to her visual glitches, and they're glowing slightly, still not mending like they should. He looks down and swallows as _he_ unpacks what he said. _Oh, bugger…_

"Rose, I didn't mean—"

"Shh. I'm watching."

They fall silent as they're drawn into the show, and the Doctor returns to his book. After a while, he smiles a little, remembering the time she got cross with him for not paying attention to the episode because he was also reading a book about Arjulian theoretical physics. She'd been quite impressed that he could read such a tome whilst simultaneously giving the television his attention, in addition to at least twelve other complicated contemplations. He misses that time so much. Back before he lost her; back when they were like two ends of a circuit coming together at last, lighting up the universe everywhere they went. He wants to be that with her again, and closes his eyes to push away the warnings and doubts that threaten to diffuse his present contentment.

"What do I feel like?" There's a pause, and then she rushes to amend her question. "You—you don't have to tell me, o'course."

Her voice is meek as it stirs him from his multiple mental tasks. He looks down at his hands as he responds. "Like you always felt. Soft skin, very warm. Quite nice, actually." As the words make their way out of him, his hearts speed up and his own skin tingles. He turns his hands over, inspecting his palms as a thought enters his mind. He marks his place in the book and sets it aside, then turns to her.

Their eyes meet and the ghost of a smile touches her lips. He drops his gaze and notices that the visual glitches have mostly gone away, save for a few semi-translucent patches on her arm. After pausing the episode, he leans over towards her to examine her arm closely. He's reaching for her even as he reminds himself that he shouldn't, but he stops just shy of making contact.

"May I?" Oh, it's so hypocritical of him, and she must feel so confused. Maybe as confused as he feels. Does she need to feel his touch as much as he needs to feel hers? He swallows thickly. "Er, I have an idea."

She twists her earring, uncertainty playing on her features. "Sure you want to touch me? You said-"

"I know. I want to try again, so hear me out. When I said I didn't want to feel you, I just meant that it's just too much. Everything you are just pours into me, and it's like having you inside of my own mind, our thoughts and feelings merged. It's not something that should happen without consent, or without protection—er—mental shields in place. So you can allow or disallow however much of yourself merges with me. In this form, it would seem that you have very powerful telepathic capabilities, but, like the other things… it'll take some time and practice to control them better."

She nods, turning to him fully as her hand drops from her earring. Her expression is softer, more open, and he breathes a sigh of relief as she extends her arm towards him.

"You had me at respecting my basic human decency," she smiles with a wink.

He grins and reaches towards her arm, but hesitates and looks up into her eyes. "If I pull away, please don't take it personally."

She nods.

He closes his eyes, focusing to extend his mental shields, and reaches out to touch her arm. Her thoughts and feelings vibrate under her skin, beyond the membrane of his psyche just out of his reach, and it sooths him how the resonance is no different from what he felt whenever he touched the human Rose. It's not too easy, though, to keep his shields extended for so long. He can feel her pressing against his mind, like a rush of water pounding against a feeble dam. It's times like this he wishes he'd paid more attention in school. As the seconds tick by, his guard slips and he wants to let her rush in, to feel her wash through his mind and fill every corner. She's so warm and so inviting, and he's been empty for so long. He trembles as he stops breathing, and the sensation of his respiratory bypass kicking in is what snaps him out of it. He releases her arm and his eyes fly open.

Rose reaches for him, face drawn with worry. "Doctor, are you—"

"It's okay. I'm okay. Sorry," he breathes, and he fumbles for his suit jacket, shifting his focus away from her to ground himself. He pulls out his sonic and turns back to her after a deep breath. "I think I should try the healing frequency one more time."

She swallows and looks down at her forearm, at the faint glitches that still mar her skin, and nods.

He doesn't touch her this time as he sweeps the sonic over her arm, its trill warbling a little as it hits her wound.

"Did you figure anything out while I was gone?" Her voice is soft and inquisitive.

"Well, yes, actually. Sorry, I've been so consumed with making sure you're all right." He gives her a guilty look.

She smiles, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. It makes him smile in response, and he reaches behind himself without looking to set the sonic down on his end table. The wound on her arm fades even further, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Rose adjusts her position on the sofa, turning towards him with her leg folded beneath her. "Let's hear it then."

"Oh, right. Erm… well, it turns out that there are no reapers. Doesn't look like there'll be any at all. No evidence of activity of that kind whatsoever."

She claps her hands together, her grin broadening. "That's good, yeah?"

"Yes." He winces a little and sucks through his teeth. "I mean, it's definitely unusual. The other possibility I looked into was whether this is a bubble universe. So far that's inconclusive."

"What does that mean? It exists only as long as we do?"

"Depends, but I don't think that's what happened. I think… I think we fixed a paradox."

"What…? Fixed one? S'a drastic theory change, innit?"

He rubs his eye and rakes his fingers through his hair, avoiding eye contact with her. "I destroyed Gallifrey. I did it, I remember doing it. I never didn't do it. But… but we—my future self and I—went back in time and prevented an earlier version of myself from doing it, which meant the Moment never exploded. But you see, it needed to. I think that's why she did it in the first place. Why she wanted Rose to touch her. She needed to explode, too many civilisations were affected by it exploding, and by not destroying Gallifrey and putting it into a pocket universe loose ends were flapping around everywhere. The Moment needed to explode and become that star."

"Shouldn't fixing a paradox mean you prevent it from happening, though? Doesn't sound like a fix to me."

"The same energy was involved, and that energy needed to be put back into the timeline to balance things out."

"I see, so, not a direct repair but a…"

"Detour?"

"Yeah."

"Think I wanna have that kip now." Rose scoots even closer to him and puts a pillow against his shoulder. She also wedges the blanket along his side, forming an unfortunate barrier between them.

"What are—"

"Gonna do it here if that's all right with you? Like we used to."

That's not a good idea. So not a good idea, but it's also the best idea she's had all day. Would it be possible to resist the temptation to drape his arm around her, or rest his cheek against the top of her head? _Like he used to. _He nods warily, lifting his arm to rest it along the back of the couch.

"I won't touch. Promise," she says, as she settles at his side and rests her head on the pillow. "All right?"

"Yeah," he says on a sigh. He rewinds the episode for her (of course he didn't need to himself) and they fall silent as they resume their watch.

He looks down at the crown of her head and imagines pressing a kiss there like he would've done before. Her hand rests on a bit of the blanket that drapes over his stomach, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Before he does something foolish, like curl a finger through the strand of hair that's looping on her shoulder, he grabs his book and pries it open to read. But very little reading actually happens, as his eyes trip over the same page over and over again, his attention returning to the feel of her resting against him like years and universes hadn't at once kept them apart. Rose sighs, and part of him knows she's feeling the same.


	6. Can't Cage My Light

Thank you to my betas, Kilodalton & Abadplanwellexecuted. Thank you for reading. :)

* * *

The series finale ends, and Rose sits up, her head fuzzy and her body warm and relaxed. She stretches, and through a sort of sleepy haze, realizes that it feels good—like she has proper muscles to stretch. It draws a smile to her face, and she can almost even sense the urge to yawn deep in her chest. It doesn't come, and she's thrown back into uncertainty. Resting here with him, feeling him breathe under her weight, and hearing him swiftly flip the pages of his books as she lost herself in the show had lulled her into forgetting she wasn't fully human anymore. That there'd been no white wall or cold, northern beaches. The calm feeling retreats and she furrows her brows as she clenches her teeth, trying to cling to both realities at once. What she was and what she is. She realises she's been glaring at the tea table as though it bore all the fault for her struggle, and the urge to slam her fist against it nearly wins over. The release of pent up anger might help, but the Doctor might think she's gone mental.

His leg moves when he shifts, his thigh brushing against hers through the blanket, and all of her senses cloud over again. She bites her lip and looks over at the Doctor, who still had his nose buried in a book, tongue pressing against his top teeth as he focused on the last few pages. God, she almost forgot how swiftly anger can turn into desire, especially with him around.

"Think I still need sleep?" An innocuous question, yeah? He couldn't still feel her thoughts through the blanket, she hoped.

He puts the book down on the end table and sits up straighter as he glances at her. His mouth parts as his eyes roam her face, and he shifts. After a moment, he shakes his head and blinks, removing his glasses. "Ah, I dunno. It's possible, as you're part human. Are you sleepy? Well over a twenty-four hour cycle has passed since, er… and you've been through a lot since."

"I think so. I feel run down, but I can't yawn." She sighs and looks down at herself, at the skin of her forearms, free of any trace she'd been damaged. The sight of it helps her anger retreat further. "I look normal again at least."

The Doctor sits forward, and he's suddenly very close. His freckles catch her attention and she follows them across his cheekbones and down the bridge of his nose. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes settle on his bottom lip. A warm, tingling feeling swirls inside, settling lower and lower, and she knows it's arousal, but it's really so much more than that. It's human. It's how she felt when she'd look at him before. It's everything. (So why can't she yawn?)

"Then it wouldn't hurt to try."

The sound of his voice snaps her gaze up to meet his. "Y-yeah?"

He tilts his head, eyes dark with an edge of mirth. "Well. You'd have fallen asleep halfway into our marathon before, so it's possible you just need less of it." He flashes a grin. "Imagine that."

She rolls her eyes. "Stop."

"Come on. I'll walk you to your room, and you can give it a go." He stands, shedding the blanket and pillow, and reaches out to take her hand. Before she can even think to reach for it, he quickly withdraws it and rakes his fingers awkwardly through his hair instead, averting his eyes.

Rose watches the action as she stands on her own. Just knowing he would've, that he finds it just as difficult to resist, makes her heart skip a beat. She smiles at him. "I'd like that."

They head for Rose's room, walking side-by-side, discussing the series they'd just watched. When they reach her door, Rose leans back against the threshold as they continue their animated talk, her heart fluttering and her cheeks warm. She says something that makes him laugh. A big, loud 'HA!' and she's officially lost count of how many times she can fall in love with this man in one day.

A couple strands of the Doctor's hair bounces as he carries on, gesturing emphatically, about what he'd have done differently were he aboard the Serenity. Rose laughs in all the right places, and is quick to tease or encourage him about some of his ideas, and they settle into this dance that's so much like how it was before. Flirty and brimming with joy, like they're the only two people in the universe.

When he teases her about how much she wants Mal and Inara to get together, she smiles widely at him, her tongue grazing an incisor as she points out that he wants it too. Maybe more than she does. His eyes drift over her features and settle on her mouth, and she lifts her chin, angling for what? She's not sure. No, that's not it. She's very sure, in fact, she's so aware of what she wants, her heart, her body aches with it. She swallows and tilts her chin back down, not meaning to entice whilst knowing he couldn't kiss her. If he wanted to—and that was what she was unsure of.

Her back is arched slightly against the frame of her door, but she isn't aware of it so much until his eyes drop to her clavicle and drift lower ever so briefly before rising back up along the curve of her neck. The warmth in her cheeks spreads down, across her chest, and she wonders what's on his mind as her tongue glides across her bottom lip. They'd have moments like this before, too. A few seconds spent hanging by a thin thread over an open flame, but he'd always walk—yes. There he goes. He's walking away, rather abruptly, towards the console room. Not even a goodnight, which he would've said before, and that's what stings. Her heart sinks and she lets out a sharp exhale, not even hiding her frustration from his superior Time Lord hearing. Of course, she doesn't blame him, not exactly. She can't help but wonder, though, would he have left if he could touch her?

She stalks into her room and sighs as the door closes behind her. A shower would feel gorgeous right about now, but why bother? Although, if she can feel yarn and cool countertops, maybe she can feel the water against her skin. Yeah, that's all she needs right now to help her feel like a normal human being. As she walks to the en suite, her clothes quite unexpectedly vanish from her body, and she can't help but laugh at how convenient that'd be for things she's not sure would ever happen. Even if he _could _touch her. That was always the case with the Doctor though, wasn't it? Her laughter transforms into a broken groan as she turns on the shower, the emotions she'd been suppressing all day hitting her like a fist in the gut. She'd found the Doctor, but at what cost? They'd been close before. The best of friends, and she'd blurted out that she loves him on that beach. She's sure he was going to admit the same before he vanished into thin air, and now, as she steps into the pelting hot water, she desperately wants to ask him what he was going to say. She has a feeling he loves her in his own sort of way, but what if it's changed?

Tears form in her eyes, but she doesn't wipe them away. The water sparks off of her, and she watches it with detached interest as it slows while passing through her skin. Her entire body is alight as her image interacts with the moisture. It doesn't really get her wet, but eventually it does seem to bounce off of her—mostly, anyway. It still _feels_ like she's getting wet, and she pretends that's all that matters for now. But then, something interesting happens. As she relaxes and breathes in the steam, water begins to bead up on her arms, and she brushes her hand along her skin, smearing it around. She looks down and watches as rivulets trail down between her breasts and along her torso. Drops form on the tip of her nose and chin to splash on the tiled shower floor, and a clump of damp hair hangs in her face where before it had remained dry. Instead of finding it reassuring, though, anxiety builds in her chest. Was it really happening, or was it part of the simulation? She hated not knowing, and it wasn't enough to pretend anymore.

With a groan, she turns off the water and reaches for a towel, but as she steps out of the shower, she's dry again, her hair hanging loose and soft around her face.

"Oh, come off it!" She sighs and stares at herself in the mirror, too sick of being a hologram to cry about it anymore. She decides right then that she won't. Ever again if she can help it. This is her life now, so no use in being a big baby about it anymore. Though, she does wish she at least _looked_ like she had before. She's not sure if she could ever get used to the hardened, drifter version who lost a bit of herself every time she made a jump across the void to find anything but the Doctor.

Her reflection is scowling and she looks away, instead focusing on picking out every imperfection on her naked skin as a distraction. But unexpectedly, it soothes her. She notices she's not as hard and thin as she'd been since her image had settled on this version of her appearance. In fact, her hair is a bit longer, too, like it was just before she made her first jump. She'd grown it out like it was when she first met the Doctor, thinking of it as some kind of good luck symbol. She laughs at that, at how she'd been snuggled against him for the greater part of the evening, and it gives her a good, happy feeling in her chest. Maybe it was luck after all. She smiles and admires herself, turning to the side to see the gentle swell of her bum and a few little silver stretchmarks on her thighs. Yeah, she's a bit softer, a bit paler, but she likes it. It makes her feel like herself again more than anything else has so far. This is who she was at the time the Moment took her memories, and this is who she wants to be.

"All right, you stupid program. Let's keep it this way, yeah?"

She feels the TARDIS breeze across her mind, and she smiles at the sensation. It's like a hug from a friend who's happy that she's happy and it gives her hope that things will be all right.

"Thank you," she whispers, and heads to her closet to find something to wear, but before she can reach the door knob, she's dressed in a nighty and knickers. She blows air through her lips and feels resigned to just let it go for the night. One step at a time.

The next few days pass without incident as they ease into some semblance of a routine. Rose finds that sleep is something she still very much needs to sustain her mental strength—though maybe not so much of it anymore. When she closes her eyes, she dreams about strange things like her childhood home inside of Pete's mansion, or her mum in a pink track suit planting flowers in the kitchen, and then she wakes six hours later, her body in the same position as it was in when she fell asleep.

She meets the Doctor in the galley every morning as he takes his tea, and with each day that passes, she's less bothered that she can't have a cuppa with him. They then head to the library so he can help her hone her abilities, and after that, he heads off somewhere to tinker whilst she putters around the TARDIS, exploring and practicing on her own.

She masters teleportation first, as she was already well on her way with it. The second and third day she's further perfected her telekinetic abilities, and finds that she's limited to her own personal strength as a human. The Doctor is a patient and encouraging teacher, though he keeps a good physical distance from her. They round off their evenings in the media room, and just like that, it's a pattern that helps her feel, well, normal.

On the fourth day, the Doctor takes her to the library to help her rehabilitate with trickier tasks, like balancing and carrying irregular weights. After successfully hauling a stack of heavy books across the library and setting them on the table, she cheers and he cheers and she flings her arms around him in a celebratory hug, her entire body pressing to his.

It was a huge mistake. His hands splay open on her back and she hears his sharp gasp right at her ear.

Before she can pull away, he bows against her to press his face into her neck. His breath against her skin ignites every nerve in her body, or photon—but no. When he touches her, when his lips brush against where her neck meets her shoulder as he whispers her name, she's flesh and blood and nerves. A breathy sigh escapes her and she digs her fingers into his back, letting him pull her against him even tighter. He whimpers, and it's a desperate, painful sound. His hands clutch at her waist and let go only to grasp her elsewhere, and oh, he's _touching_ her. She'd forgotten about her own clothes and how they're very much an extension of her body.

He lifts his head and stares at her, eyes darting between hers, searching for something—permission or forgiveness, possibly both. His face screws up in a strange mixture of bliss and agony as he presses his forehead to hers. She feels him there at her mind, begging to be let inside as though there's a violent storm on his heels and her head is the only shelter in the entire universe. The feeble psychic barrier between them begins to erode and she can't let him as much as she wants to. Not yet. Not like this, when he's vulnerable because of _her_ stupid inability to control her own telepathy. She gasps as she pulls back from him, her hands sliding along his sleeves to gently pry them from her body and it's torturous to have so much space between them after his arms had been around her. She lets go of his sleeves and takes a step back.

He swallows hard as he comes to his senses. "Wha-what have I done?" He's staring at her with wide eyes, brows angled in horror, chest heaving as he gasps for breath.

Rose takes a second to steady her body's response to his touch. Her neck still tingles and the undertow of desire remains, collecting like a pool of warm honey low in her abdomen. Her voice trembles when she finds it to speak. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's my fault. I—I can't—"

"I'm the one who hugged you! I should've remembered!"

"Rose…" He presses his hands against his face and turns away from her. "I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I didn't mean to—I didn't want…"

Her heart twists in her chest as she moves closer to him. "Doctor, I—"

His hands drop to his sides. "Something's off. With me, I mean. Yes, you now have some telepathic abilities and you hadn't before, as human. But, I'm normally not this sensitive, Rose. This body has had two failed regenerations, and it must be deteriorating my telepathic shields." When he turns back to her, his face is a mask of absolute calm, but his eyes are still dark and haunted. "I might need to spend some time in the Zero room."

Rose swallows and nods, unsure of what to say. His words had cut, and she knows he's not trying to hurt her, but she feels responsible, no matter what he says to dissuade her that it isn't her fault. She looks down at her own arms, at the clothing that had appeared there that morning, and back up to him.

"Zero room. What's that? That's a sort of room without gravity or something?" She grips her sleeve absently, fingers clawing at the material. She hates that it feels real. It would be better if it felt like light, or anything else but fibres and cloth, so she wouldn't continue to be betrayed by her own simulation.

He sniffs and jams his hands into his suit pockets. "Well, I can levitate there. It doesn't exactly follow your typical laws of physics, but I need it to heal. So. I'll be gone for a bit."

"Okay."

He begins to leave.

"Wait! Doctor?"

He stops at the door and glances at her over his shoulder.

"How long? What'll I do?"

"Oh, as long as it takes." He shrugs. "You'll know. Unless. Well, I haven't tried out the new Zero Room. Last one was ejected from the TARDIS, so. There's bound to be something different about it. Maybe it'll be a giant ball pit this time." He scrunches up his face. "Although, it might be a bit distracting, which defeats the purpose."

She smiles a little at that thought. "You'd be too busy playing in it to heal, yeah?"

"Oh, yes!" He matches her smile.

"I'll keep practicing."

He nods and his smile warms further. "Yes, good."

And with that, he leaves, and the library becomes a looming, living thing, surrounding her with whispers from alien worlds and lost ages. She feels small and finite, which is comforting in that stargazing sort of way. Her pulse slows as she looks around at the shelves, some which stretch to the ceiling. There's a large fireplace that's always lit, and the flames billow with a phantom gust from the flume, drawing her attention its way. She's transfixed by the flicker and crackle from the hearth as her mind replays the Doctor's embrace over and over again. The pile of books she carried is still sitting on the edge of the large, wooden desk at her side, and she runs her hand along the gentle bumps of their spines, like she ran her hand down his back. She can still feel him grasping at her waist, his fingernails biting through her pullover and sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She touches her neck where his face had been buried, could still feel the tingle of his voice vibrating against her skin. But even though he was clinging to her, whispering her name over the pulsepoint of her throat, it was only because he missed being connected to another person's mind. Like he had been with his people—yeah. She's sure that was it, and it could have hurt him! Shame sinks in like ice washing through her veins. How could she have been so careless?

She looks away from the fire and her eyes settle on the suit of armor standing near a shelf of medieval scrolls. Her head tilts and a whoosh of inspiration strikes her, leaving no room for further self-pity. That's it; she needs armor. Something to wear to protect him from accidentally touching her until they get her telepathy sorted. Oh, how simple! Why hadn't she thought of it before? True, she'd only just now learnt the basics of telekinetics—but, _blimey_.

Rose closes her eyes and thinks of her room, this time with the intent to teleport. She's just too eager to fuss with walking, and why not take advantage of it every now and again? When she appears there, she heads straight to her closet. There's not much in there she finds appealing anymore. Not that her tastes have changed drastically, but she's not that person anymore. She's done a lot of growing since she lived aboard the TARDIS, and isn't so sure she still fancies hoodies and bejeweled denims. But she has to try this. She grabs a pair of dark trousers and a large, hot pink jumper and tosses them to the bed. She then rummages through the piles and finds a scarf and gloves, socks and trainers.

Facing the mirror, she envisions herself undressed, and the clothing simulation disappears from her body. (She leaves the bra and knickers, though, 'cos they're cute). With a deep breath, she turns to the bed and picks up the jumper and fumbles for the neck opening so she can slide it over her head. She slips her arms through the sleeves and it falls to her hips. Encouraged by how easy that was, she picks up the trousers and sits on the bed to slide them up her legs—they give her a bit of trouble as one trouser leg twists around itself, but she manages to pull them on after focusing more intently. She slips on the socks and trainers, and struggles with the laces, so she tosses them aside for flats. They look ridiculous with her socks, but she can't take any risks.

She wraps the scarf around her neck and it bunches up just over her chin, then goes for the gloves. They give her a lot more trouble. Something about angling for the tiny finger-holes makes her feel at a loss. Frustrated, she looks at herself in the mirror again as she wiggles her still-bare fingers.

There's a knock at her door that startles her. He can't be finished already—hasn't been _that_ long. She rushes to answer and sure enough, he's there, all sheepish and scratching the back of his neck.

"Hi, er… turns out I haven't yet installed radiation filters in the new Zero Room. Can't operate without it. Hard to come by though, now that… Well." He gets a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, then he snaps back to the present and squints at her. "Hang on, are you cold? That's fascinating! You can feel temperature—oh we can have the TARDIS adjust the thermostat for your room—"

Rose laughs. "No, Doctor. I'm not, and yeah, I can feel temperature like I can feel everything else."

"Then what's with the scarf?" His eyes widen and he gasps. "No, I didn't—did I?"

"Didn't what?"

He looks around, as though there are other people he doesn't want to hear what he's about to say. He whispers. "A hickey? I swear, I—"

"A _what_?" She touches her scarf and then breaks out in a peal of laughter. She falls back on her bed and holds her stomach. "Oh, my god!"

He watches her, an eyebrow rising higher and higher by the second. "Is it really that funny?"

"No! Oh, Doctor." She sits up, her face a bit sore from laughing. But it felt so good, and that was why it was hard to stop. She smiles at him, tongue poking out. "No, you didn't. No hickey. Your mouth barely…" She swallows and licks her lips, the rest of her sentence an exhale.

He watches her from just inside the doorway, his eyes roaming over her body. It makes her blush, and she sits up to bite her nail.

"Those are real clothes," he says, and of course that was why he'd been looking at her like that. Deducting.

"Yeah, oh. I thought maybe it would help." She stands and crosses the room to him. "'Cos I don't think I can always—" She cuts herself off and takes a breath, steeling herself. "I just want it like before."

The Doctor nods, his gaze holding hers.

"I was just trying to pull on my gloves." She holds one up and demonstrates her struggle. "Could you, ah—"

"Here," he says, and his voice is barely a whisper. He takes the glove and opens it for her and she carefully slides her hand in. They put on the other glove in silence, and when Rose looks back up to the Doctor, the dimples in his cheeks are pronounced from his frown and there's a depth to his gaze, like he's remembering something that troubles him. He hasn't yet let go of her hand, and she assumes he's just testing to make sure it works. And it's odd, holding his hand without feeling his cool skin grow warm to her touch. Despite that, her heart swells at the sight of it—of his fingers curling around hers.

"S'funny, yeah? How does cloth block you from, um, from feeling my thoughts?"

The dark look passes, and he flicks his eyes down to their joined hands and back to her. "Cloth isn't a conductor for electrophysiology. It dampens it, and, well. You don't have nerves per se, but every molecule inside of you transmits electrical impulses from your cortex." His thumb brushes over the knit pattern on her glove. "I can feel it, but it isn't visible to my mind. It's still…" He swallows. "Still there. Easier for me to block."

"Is that why you wear so many layers?" When she looks up at him, he's still staring at her. Warmth rises to her cheeks and she looks everywhere but at him.

"Partly. Although, humans as a whole are weak telepaths, so." He sighs. "Rose, you shouldn't have to do this."

"S'all right. If it'll help."

"Come on. I need to pick up that part, and they're bound to have something that'll help you. Why don't we pop out for a bit? Get some fresh air?"

"Yes! Don't get me wrong, I love the TARDIS, but I missed the alien worlds bit." She bites her bottom lip as she grins, excitement whirling through every inch of her body. "But, wait. Would that even be possible?"

"Only one way to find out. Come on," and he smiles and grasps her hand, tugging her along with him out into the corridor. It's like riding a bicycle, how they fall back into synch like this, and she knows as long as she has his hand in hers, she's Rose and he's the Doctor and they're _together_. The grin he tosses at her over his shoulder, the way his eyes lock on hers before he turns to look ahead again is like a stamp on her heart making it official that he feels the same.

Rose laughs and squeezes his hand with all of her might as she runs along with him down the halls of the TARDIS to the console room. When he reaches the control panel, he never lets go of her hand as he skips around the controls (her stumbling, giggling, and trying to keep up). He's entering coordinates, guiding the TARDIS into the time stream, and finally activates the landing sequence. Once they land, her hand still in his, they race to the door, and he opens it, after grabbing his coat, to reveal a dark little grotto with glowing plants that light a pathway out to an underground lake.

"Ahh, good ol' Resval'ek. Did you know most ships would pick up no signs of life on this planet and keep going? It's a great privilege to have access to the civilizations here." The Doctor releases her hand as he steps out, surveying the area with a sweeping glance. She hangs back by the TARDIS as she pushes the door shut behind them.

"We're in a cave?"

"Er, yeah. Forgot to mention that this place is underwater." He shrugs into his coat and she helps him find the other sleeve. "The only habitable region on this entire planet, in fact, but it's renowned throughout this galaxy for its ultra-rare goods market." He walks ahead a bit, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit cavern. "Should be a submersible lift down this walkway for offworlders."

Rose follows him, her heart racing with each step further away from the TARDIS doors. "Seems empty."

"Don't touch the water."

"Why not?" She approaches the shore.

"Just-just don't."

"That bad, huh? Has it got creatures that'll eat my fingers?" She stares into the still, dark water, imagining that there could be something giant looming right under the surface, staring back at her. She shivers.

His voice calls from around the corner. "Aha! Here it is. Rose?"

Rose backs away from the water and turns to head down the pathway to the sound of his voice, but before she can reach him, her surroundings flicker and fade away. She blinks to find herself back in the TARDIS console room, the central column dimming and brightening in recognition.

"What the—" Rose marches right back down the ramp and out of the TARDIS doors. She heads for the Doctor and it happens again.

She sighs as she's bathed in the central column's green glow once again. Defeated, she trudges down the ramp to the exit and pushes open the door. The Doctor is standing there, head tilted.

"Not happening, eh?"

Rose shakes her head.

"Sorry. I'll be back, just—do whatever."

"I hate this."

"I know. Lucky I'm in just the place to find something that might help with that, too." He gestures over his shoulder with a tilt of his head.

Rose nods, brows furrowed. "Yeah, lucky."

"I'll see you later."

She smiles, the familiar phrase (and environment, now that she thinks about it) taking a bit of the edge off her frustration. "Not if I see you first."

He winks and turns to walk away, his coat swaying behind him.

The closing of the TARDIS door echoes in her mind, like a resounding snap of a cage locking shut. She turns, cursing under her breath, and heads back to the inner corridors of the TARDIS, the tide of emotions—anger, fear, sorrow—lapping at her heels and threatening to pull her under again. She hates the idea of him roaming the market alone, hands tucked in his pockets and unable to resist the call of adventure if it should come his way. Hates that she can't be there to join him. What if there's a secret enemy force, lurking among the commoners, waiting for the moment to strike and take over? A planet that goes through such lengths to protect their market of ultra-rare bits and bobs has to have an enemy somewhere in the stars. Why else would they hide? What if they're hiding 'cos they're the ones up to no good, and innocent people are just milling about in the market, unsuspecting that they could come into harm's way?

Danger and discovery excite her just as much as they excite him, and if she can't—if she has to be _trapped_ in this ship forever, she's gonna—she'll just—well, she's not sure what she'd do. Certainly anything it takes to _not_ let that happen. Maybe it'll be a boring market filled with exactly the thing he needs and nothing else. Nothing interesting, nothing dangerous, so he'll come straight back and help her figure out a solution, because she will _not_ be a bird in a cage. Even if it is a particularly massive cage. Endless, even, as far as she knows.

Maybe she'll do a bit of exploring on the TARDIS to pass the time, to get her mind off of that creeping reminder that things truly _aren't_ normal for her. Not anymore, or possibly ever again. She kicks at the bronze-coloured base of the corridor wall and it clangs loudly.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" She stops a second as pain throbs in her toes. The lights dim and brighten and she worries her bottom lip. "Sorry, I, um… shouldn't 'ave done that." The pain gradually fades and she wiggles her foot, thankful in some sense that she _could_ feel the injury. "Won't do it again, promise. You're not hurt, are you?"

A gentle, reassuring hum fills her mind.

"'Kay. Still sorry, though." She rubs the wall with her open hand, feeling the undulating vibrations under her gloved palm.

She sighs and studies her surroundings. There's bound to be hundreds of rooms she hasn't seen before. She decides to just go wherever the TARDIS will take her, and follows along a long series of turns and curves, passing not a single door on her way. She pulls off her gloves as she walks and shoves them in her back pockets to touch the coppery metal of the corridor walls and the bumpy texture of intermittent coral archways. The hum of the TARDIS fills her, and she relaxes.

Eventually she finds a door, and it opens for her as though sensing her arrival.

Her eyebrows raise. "All right. Don't mind if I do." She steps in and looks around, curiosity all but erasing her previous irritation. It's a large, dimly lit room with a high ceiling, circular and domed like many of the other rooms in the TARDIS. There's a stage on the far end of the room and a piano sits atop. Other musical instruments are set up here and there around the open space, some on shelves and others standing free. She wanders through the instruments, some familiar, others alien, until she reaches the piano. She sits at the stool and inspects a sheet of paper that's spread out and filled with strange markings. Some kind of musical notation, probably, but it's nothing like anything she's seen on earth. Beside the piano is a flat stand where sits a small glass (at least, she thinks) sphere resting in a carved, wooden holder. She touches the sphere and music begins to play.

It's a soft, lilting piano tune. Haunting but sweet, and gives her such an odd sense of nostalgia. She stands from the piano bench and lets the song play as she wanders around the room, admiring the stranger instruments and wondering how they sound. The music from the sphere swells with accompanying strings, and she assumes they're some kind of recording devices. Her wandering takes her to a large, curved series of shelves along one of the walls, and she notices dozens and dozens of other spheres are stowed there.

_Don't touch them._ She could just hear the Doctor's voice like he was right there. And she really shouldn't, but he wouldn't know, would he? The TARDIS had brought her to this room for a reason, yeah? She studies the little inscriptions that label each sphere, all written in Gallifreyan. She's trying not to let her curiosity win out, really she is, but as she follows along the shelves, she notices they're getting dustier. And yet, there's one sitting on the very end that has fingerprints in the dust, and she just has to hear that one. That should do it—just the one and she'll duck out like she'd never been there.

The music from the sphere by the piano fades to silence as she reaches out for the one on the shelf.


	7. Pocket Full of Meteorites

Thank you to kilodalton and abadplanwellexecuted! Music orbs, artwork, and tinkering, oh my!

* * *

The Doctor stuffs his procurements into his dimensional pocket and wanders back through the main market cavern, scanning the rare trinkets and artefacts of long-extinct cultures from long-abandoned planets along the way. Strings of blue lanterns overhead bathe everything in ethereal hues, and mushrooms glow by his feet to light the path through the market. It feels more like a dark dream than a real place, and his mood has shifted to match. He can feel the tug of a slight frown and the tension in his brows, but he's not really of a mind to put on a happy face. The stands are more crowded than when he passed through earlier, though there's still not much sound. A few conversations float across the cavern, echoing on the roughhewn ceiling above, but there's no bustle. No laughter or song. He can't help but imagine how much brighter this cavern would be if Rose was at his side, and it makes him feel a little bit needy, a little more anxious to get back to her.

He winces as psychic reverb scratches across his mind from the many telepathic species within his sensitivity range. Definitely something he never had problems with before. The quicker he gets back to the TARDIS, the better. He picks up his pace and is relieved when he sees the cluster of glowing plants that flank the exit to the submersible lift.

There's also a kiosk ahead that he'd wanted to stop by on his way back. He thinks about abandoning the notion, but the shelves of assorted stones with their unique origins draw him in regardless. The peddler, a green, bug-like humanoid not too different from the Malmooth of Malcassairo, had caught his attention the moment he entered with promises of stones so rare, so impossible, he would scarce believe his eyes. He assured he'd return once he had what he came for, and here he is, forcing a grin, though his eyebrows are raised in genuine wonder as he scans the stones. The peddler takes a drag from her oxygen pipe and gives him a warm smile around her mandibles.

"Did you decide to get one for your lady love?" She says, her voice lilting as she pushes forward a tray of sparkling stones roughly the size of walnuts. "That lot's from the Derashkon galaxy, which, as you know, Time Lord, collapsed two billion years ago."

He makes a face at her not-too-subtle (and regretfully accurate) implication that his people were to blame, though his stomach swoops like he's in a freefall when his mind rounds back to the phrasing of her first sentence. "She's not, er… _mine_." He scratches the back of his neck as he studies the meteorite fragment in question.

"She will be yours with such a rare gift! Imagine her face when you tell her she's holding a piece of a world that was once so renowned for their rituals of love, that species across the universe tried their best to emulate them."

His cheeks feel hot at that, and he'll be damned if he's blushing. "Er…Thank you, but I've decided—"

She waves a hand. "Not the romantic type I gather."

"Um…" He follows that up with a bit of a noncommittal whinge, making a face, and then turns to walk away.

"Ah! I know. Perhaps you'd be more interested in a reminder of your homeworld?"

Her words slam into the back of his skull, making him bristle. He turns back and strides to her, head cocked and eyes narrowed. "Hang on, did you say _my_ homeworld?"

She holds the pipe in her mandibles and reaches below the counter to withdraw a little satchel. With steady, three-fingered hands, she opens the drawstring and lets a few orange and red stones, each glimmering with golden flecks, tumble out onto the countertop.

His chest constricts and his eyes widen, knowing at once the origin of those stones. "How do you have—you can't possibly—" He covers his mouth with his hand to stop the sputtering, then slides his fingers down to his chin, mouth hanging open in awe. Each stone is pockmarked and smoothed, evidence of being exposed to extreme temperatures and radiation. Tell-tale signatures of planetary matter ejected into space from a cataclysmic explosion. "It's impossible." His voice is a whisper.

"Nothing's impossible, Time Lord. What have you to trade for bits of the one and only Gallifrey? Destroyed somewhere beyond the logic of time and space, and yet whole and hidden at the same time." As if to illustrate her fantastic sales pitch, the stones fade away before his eyes. After a few moments, where he's breathless and his eyes are going dry from staring, the stones blink back into existence.

"What?!" He glares up at her. "How did you get these?"

Her resulting smile is on the cusp of sly. It's in her eyes—she knows she's offering him something he can't possibly refuse. A particularly sharp jab of psychic feedback rattles his mind and he flinches. He has to get back to his ship, it's only getting worse out here. But he can't just let this woman hawk fragments of his planet like cheap baubles.

"They fell from a crack in space. Saw it with my own eyes, I did." She takes a drag on her oxygen pipe. "I know what you're thinking: there's a paradox afoot! Gallifrey was destroyed!" Her antennae lift in mock alarm. "Or was it? Maybe you tucked it into a little pocket to be forgotten about till you shake out the universe one day and it comes tumbling out to the stardust. But you should know, both things are true. Both things happened. Gallifrey is both destroyed and hidden away. Tell me, wouldn't you like evidence of such a conundrum?" The stones disappear and reappear again as if on cue.

"They fell from a crack…?" His tone is deliberately snappish, and can't keep his lip from curling at the ridiculous image of them falling out of a literal crack in space and imagining her puttering by on her little ship as they plink off of her view scanner. He shakes his head, the eerie wonder fading as his doubts creep in. "That makes no sense. You sure there's just oxygen in that pipe?" He waves his hand at the stones. "I have to give you credit for the disappearing illusion. That's a nice touch."

There's another sharp tug of pressure in his mind, like a thread had just been pulled from his brain. "Gah!" He grabs his head, fingertips pressed into his scalp. When the throb subsides, he glares at her, nostrils flaring. "That was you! How dare you muck about in my head!"

The woman gapes at him, her mandibles spread wide. "Be silent!" she hisses, eyes darting around. "You're not supposed to feel that!"

"You're not supposed to _do_ that!" He sneers at her. "You don't just go pilfer people's minds for bargaining chips. I can have you reported."

"No! No, don't do that—please! It's only surface skim, nothing deeper. I promise! Your mind is very pliable, though. Strange for a Time Lord."

He scowls more deeply. "I don't care! And the state of my mind is of no concern to you."

The peddler quivers, mandibles clicking in panic, but still she avoids making any promises. He gestures to a market guard across the cavern and she begins to weave her way over.

"N-no! Please, they'll have me executed! I'll give you all of them. Take them!" She stuffs the Gallifreyan meteorites into the satchel and shoves it his way.

"You'll stick to traditional methods of wooing customers from now on, right? No more cheating." He shoves the satchel in his pocket. "_Right_?"

She nods vigorously, taking a long, shaky drag of her oxygen pipe. "Y-yes. Promise!"

He leaves the kiosk feeling like the universe had been pulled out from under him, and never calls off the guard, but slips away before she sees where he went. Let it light a little more heat under the peddler's feet for all he cares.

As he makes his way back to the TARDIS, he pulls open the drawstring of the satchel and takes out a stone. He walks with it in his hand, sliding the pad of his finger across its pockmarked surface. He can feel the subatomic vibrations of chemical elements against his skin, and there's no doubt that they're the genuine article—a tangible reminder that his memories aren't false—somehow, some way. And just as that thought passes through his mind, the stone disappears in his hand. He squeezes his hand into a fist, dull nails biting into his palm. When the stone reappears, it cuts into his flesh and his fist pops open as he hisses from the sharp stab. A jagged corner is stuck in his skin and he plucks it out with a wince. Tiny beads of blood bloom along the narrow slice. He shakes his hand and slides the stone back into his pocket with the rest as he reaches his ship.

He enters the TARDIS and pauses just inside as he pulls the door shut behind him. Rose isn't in the console room, which isn't in itself alarming, but something feels off. His mind throbs and feels raw, exposed, like parts of his subconscious are leaking out to join the invisible particles of air. This is all too much; his telepathic deterioration had clearly increased. He needs to heal before something detrimental happens, but he still has to install the part for the damn room to operate properly. He approaches the control panel, looking it over as he tries to puzzle out what was out of sorts.

Rose isn't in her room; that much is certain. Usually he can pick up on that straight away. He closes his eyes, seeking her out telepathically. Every time he nears her presence in the map of his mind, the TARDIS hides her from him. That relieves him somewhat, that there's nothing inherently menacing about Rose's absence, but he can't help but scowl at the notion that the TARDIS is in effect hiding her from _him._

He gives the central column a glare as he guides the time ship into the vortex, sparing not a single second for flourish. Once in the time stream, he heads straight for the inner TARDIS corridors, his coat billowing behind him. He passes room after room, but he knows she's not in any of them. The path ahead extends before his eyes, taking him in loops and dead ends. He growls through his clenched jaw as he reaches yet another door-filled, never-ending hall.

"Stop doing that!" His words echo, pelting him with his own shrill voice as he races down the corridor, trainers squeaking against the metal floor. A warning hums in his mind, and he slows to a brisk walk, brows furrowed in anger. "All right, fine! I know now that this is your doing. Just show me where she is._ Please._"

But the TARDIS still refuses. He growls again, reaching another turn and an endless hallway. He stops there, sighing in defeat. _This isn't funny. You know I'm unwell. _

The TARDIS materializes the door just ahead with an apologetic hum. He steps towards the door, muttering about the immaturity of ancient sentient ships, and his stomach lurches as he realizes exactly in which room Rose had been hiding.

"Oh." _So that's why_. So, she's been listening to the music orbs, which wouldn't normally be cause for alarm, although perhaps a bit embarrassing—yet in his current telepathically-compromised state, if he were to walk in while she's listening to some of his darker compositions, the effect could be dangerous. He places his hand on the door and the TARDIS brushes another warning across his mind, urging him to wait. He closes his eyes as he counts the seconds.

_…thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four…_

At last, the door opens on its own, and it's silent inside of the room.

When he enters, he sees Rose sitting at the base of the music orb shelf with a sketchpad resting on her thighs. She looks up with a small gasp and pulls the sketchpad close to her chest.

He crosses the room and stands over her, his shadow falling across half of her face.

"Have you been here the whole time?" His tone is harsh, even to his own ears, and he cringes. He can feel the weight of the stones in his pocket as though they were boulders, and the small slice in his palm stings. Little nuisances amplified by his agitated state of mind.

"I have, yeah." She closes her sketchpad and rises to her feet. He can tell she's instantly on edge as she squares her stance. "I didn't have anywhere else to go. Went for a walk to find something to do, and this was the only place available."

"You shouldn't be here."

"But—"

"You shouldn't be here!"

"Excuse, Doctor? Suppose you're gonna tell me where I _should _be, then, 'cos you know best, right? I couldn't go anywhere else!"

"In this instance, yeah. I do." He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs as he gestures in a vague direction. "You should've stayed in the console room. I wasn't gone that long."

"Something happen out there? You're acting a bit tetchy. You said I could do _whatever._ Why would the TARDIS take me here if I couldn't be here? If I'd have known, I wouldn't have come in here at all. I didn't know what to do! You just winked like it was no big deal that I'm _trapped _in here while you go off and traipse around in the Cave of Wonders."

"I do not _traipse._" He withers at the notion. "Although I'll commend you on the _Aladdin_ reference."

"I don't care. You could've been doing the Electric Slide in the Alamo—"

"That, I've done."

"—all I know is I was alone in here and you were alone out there and something could've happened! What if you needed me?" She grips her sketchpad with all of her might, making it bend.

His chest constricts at the worry on her face and he feels instantly terrible. He bridges the distance between them with a long stride, his hands hovering at her shoulders, but she takes a step back and his hearts drop. "Rose, it really wasn't a big deal."

She tuts and rolls her eyes.

He breathes out her name as he lowers his hands. "Really, listen to me. Please. There's so much security, that market is as safe as houses. And anyway, you didn't seem that upset. I was heading to the exact place I'd need to go to pick up parts to solve the problem. I mentioned that, didn't I? I know I did. I don't forget anything." He taps his temple with his injured hand. "And I did! I found something."

"Yeah? Well ain't that convenient." Rose's face scrunches up and she glares at the floor. She looks back up at him after a beat and does a double take at his hand. "You're hurt."

He jams his hand back in his pocket. "It's nothing."

She narrows her eyes. "Like hell. What happened?"

"Rose it's barely a centimetre. I cut it on a, er, scintillator crystal. Rare, those." He hates the little white lie, but he doesn't feel ready to discuss the stones yet. He attempts to steer the subject away from himself with a calmer voice. "How many did you listen to?"

She looks back to the shelf, her eyes sweeping over the assortment of little orbs. And that was just the visible shelf—she thankfully seemed to not have realized that it could slide in either direction for days and she'd still not reach the end of his collection.

"Maybe ten all the way? They were long, and some of them were, um, some were scary." Her eyes drop to her feet and then dart back up to meet his. "Figured out how to turn 'em off. Some I listened to more than once. Why?"

"So, you only heard the music?"

"Yes. Got any Earth music here? You should really get an iPod. Seems a lot more convenient and wouldn't take up a whole wall. I thought Time Lords were super advanced?" She grins, but it's not her brightest.

The Doctor lifts an eyebrow and scoffs. "Store my hard work and unparalleled creative endeavours on a shoddy piece of Earth technology? I'd rather swim in Ulworm slime and smell like carrots for the rest of my life. Anyway, how could I possibly fit the entire four-dimensional experience of writing music for and performing each instrument, along with every sensorial detail of what inspired me, into an iPod? Some of them took me years to finish. Let me also point out, that many of the songs here aren't mine. I've meticulously catalogued music from cultures all over the universe—many of them long extinct." He snorts. "An iPod, she says."

Rose smirks and shakes her head slightly, the sketchpad curling against her gently instead of creased at an angle from the pressure of her grip. The smirk shifts to a smile and she tilts her head. "That was _you_ playing the music? I mean, I assumed you were on piano, but—blimey! You're good! All those different instruments…"

"Oi!" He scratches the back of his neck and plucks a few strings on a nearby harp. "Don't act so surprised! Just be glad they're attuned to my psychic signature so music was all you heard."

When he looks back to her she's biting her nail through her glove, averting her eyes. Her mouth opens and then clicks shut, and then opens again to take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have; I was just curious, and-and I had to get my mind off of..." She looks down again and a curtain of hair falls in her face. "I didn't realize—I mean the TARDIS led me here. Didn't think she'd do that without your permission. The music really made me want to draw and the TARDIS gave me the things I needed." She bit her lip and peered up at him. "Are you cross? S'just music—"

"I'm not—I told you it's more than just music, Rose!" He begins to pace, feeling more out of sorts as the seconds ticked by. "These are bits of experiences and people I've lost and entire planets I've explored. Some which were destroyed in the Time War." He closes his eyes, his own planet hovering there in the graveyard of his mind. His hand drifts into his pocket again to feel the stones. "You couldn't have known. You have no idea what I've lost."

She's quiet for a while, until she fills the void with a sharp breath that vaguely sounds like, '_Oh_,' and is heavy with shame. She shouldn't feel guilty. She shouldn't feel ashamed—she was trapped, like she said, and that clearly had upset her. She always wanders off, that shouldn't surprise him.

His eyes fly open and he wants to take it all back. All the irritation and anger and flippant nonsense. Her lip trembles and the hurt in her eyes like an arrow piercing his hearts. There's nothing here he wouldn't have shown her eventually after all. It's not _that _private. And now he feels like a proper knob.

"My mistake. Should've known it was some kind of secret place where you keep your past hidden away. Have a lot of rooms like that here I bet." Her voice trembles with her attempt at keeping control over her emotions. She hugs the sketchpad against her chest, then she brushes past him to head for the door.

No, no, no. That isn't good. That's not what he meant! She reaches the door and it opens for her and she hasn't once looked back.

"Rose, wait—"

She turns back to him, a wary glance cast over her shoulder. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

Her expression softens a little, and she bites her lip. Something shifts in her eyes and her shoulders sag. "For what? This is your private room and I intruded. _I'm_ sorry. I even expected that you'd tell me not to touch anything."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. Like you said, the TARDIS led you here. I was being a tosser. I just mean—you couldn't have known that's what the music orbs mean to me. I haven't told you."

"No, I'm…" She takes a shaky breath and turns to him fully, shifting the sketchpad in her arms. "I'm sorry. Really. I don't care about your past. I mean, I do, but it doesn't make a difference, okay? I walked in here and, and I was curious—I, um, accidentally touched the one by the piano. Well, _accidentally _might not be the—anyway, and then I saw the rest. Should've waited for you. That was wrong of me."

He nods and looks around as he slides his hands into his trouser pockets. "S'all right. Water under the bridge."

"And you don't have to take me with you everywhere. That's not why I was upset."

"Oh, Rose. But what if I want to?" He smiles.

She laughs. "I know you can take care of yourself. I just—I didn't like feeling trapped. I missed you."

Silence settles between them and he stares at her gloved hands, remembering why he went to the market in the first place.

"Rose—"

"So, you played all the instruments in those songs, yeah?"

"Mostly, yes."

"Guess you have plenty of time to learn." She grins.

"Something like that." A sideways smile spread across his face. "You know, Rose, It's only fair." He nods at her sketchpad.

She groans. "Oh, bloody hell. Yeah, it is, innit?" Her cheeks turn red as she holds the sketchpad out in front of her. She gives it a look of warning, as though it might do something unexpectedly rude to embarrass her, and then offers it to him.

He reaches past it and takes her hand instead. "First, we have to take care of something important."

"Oh—okay." Her eyelashes flutter as she looks from their linked hands up into his eyes. "You're not still upset?"

"Oh, Rose. You should know better by now." He smiles at her, warm and honest. His stomach swoops as she matches his smile, her eyes glittering in the dim lighting, and he can feel the muted hum of her energy in his hand, through the glove. "I think I know why the TARDIS brought you here, though."

"Why?"

"Think she's trying to force us to have a conversation."

"About what?"

He shrugs and looks down at her hand. "Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with our artistic talents."

Rose squeezes his hand. He has a powerful urge to envelop her in his arms and lose himself in her, tell her that he'll let her listen to every song on that shelf whenever she feels like it. But he simply turns and tugs her with him down the corridor back towards his workshop, which, much to his relief, the TARDIS has moved right next door.

They step inside and the Doctor sets Rose's sketchpad on a table by the entrance, then reluctantly releases her hand so he can remove the contents of his dimensional pockets onto his workbench. A full sensorial holographic point source for his sonic screwdriver—that's something the TARDIS will have to have a hand in upgrading as well while he's in the Zero Room—and components for a telepathic waveform diffractor. He leaves the part for the Zero Room in his pocket; he'll sort that one out later.

Rose drifts over to a relatively uncluttered area, and he's not sure whether it's purposeful that she's avoiding going near the biotech scanner. He doesn't ask, and just sets to gathering the tools and other things he needs from shelves and drawers around him. He lays his sonic on the centre workbench and fishes around for his loupes in the interstellar junk piled around the perimeter of his workspace. After sliding on his glasses and clipping the magnifying loupes in place, he gives Rose a glance to find her watching him with rapt interest. Particularly at his fingers. Her teeth tug at her bottom lip and her eyes darken, so he waves at her and she blinks, turning her head towards her shoulder to hide a little embarrassed smile.

The Doctor lifts an eyebrow, wondering what could possibly be so arousing about his fingers, and shrugs as he gets to work on his first project. He's completely in his element doing this, and he's so focused, that he scarcely realizes that Rose has come to join him, her elbows resting on the workbench as she sits on a stool very close by. He catches the glint of the light in her hair and looks up to her, drawn to the shadow that paints the slope of her shoulder under the fall of her hair. He swallows and trains his sights up to meet hers and she's staring at his fingers again, lips parted.

"All done with this," he says, twirling his sonic and slipping it back into his pocket.

Rose tilts her head, resting her cheek in her hand. She looks up at him languidly, swaying closer. "That was more important than seeing my drawings, hm?" She smiles, tongue poking between her teeth.

"Er…" The Doctor's eyes drop to her tongue, and it's almost comical how he's so far beyond caring that she'd been in his private music room. He wonders what she thought of it, imagines a thousand questions to ask and is sure her answers would stroke his ego into orbit. He pictures her mesmerized by him as he strums a guitar for her, or as his fingers glide over piano keys, and he doesn't realize he's been leaning closer to her the whole time.

"Doctor?"

He blinks and inhales the reality to scatter his increasingly impure thoughts. What has come over him? Honestly. He pulls together the components he needs to create the telepathic diffuser thingy (his mind's a bit addled by her plump lips and the adorable way her eyebrows quirk when she's questioning him).

"Oh, um. Right! I just fitted the sonic with a holographic point source. We're partway there to you being able to go wherever I go outside of the TARDIS. Or, rather," he makes a sheepish face, scratching the back of his neck. "Wherever the sonic goes."

Rose smiles widely, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Yeah?"

"Yep." He pops the 'p.' Why does he do that? Whatever. "Now, I'm going to create something that will help keep your telepathic impulses confined, so that any touch telepaths who happen to, er, touch you, won't… um…" He shifts in his seat. "Now that I think about it. It's probably good that you weren't able to go with me earlier."

Her smile slowly fades. "Oh."

"Because there were several people there who were waveform telepaths. They could've read your every thought just by breathing the same air." He sobers at the loss of her smile, and really, he should. This is serious business. Doesn't mean he won't try whatever it takes to bring it back. "But once I finish this, they won't be able to. You'll be more in control of your mind. You'll be fit as a fiddle, and you won't need those anymore." He nods pointedly at her gloved hands.

She nods, the smile returning. But it's more of a thankful, relieved smile, than the flirtatious smile she beamed at him before. He begins to compile a list of ways to bring back that flirty one as he gets to work. Rose watches him for a little while, and then grows restless. She stands to wander around the workshop, and he finds himself distracted every now and then by how bloody adorable she is when she's curious.

When he finishes, he holds up his invention, inspecting it closely through the loupes clipped to his glasses. "Wear these at all times, and you'll be right as rain."

Rose joins him with smile, sliding onto the stool just around the corner from his. "Oh! It's… It's a pair of earrings."

"Yep! Brilliant, I thought." He drops them into her open hand. "Convenient, inconspicuous, and cutting edge." He watches her expression as she stares at the little nuggets of glimmering, iridescent meteorites set in platinum.

"They're beautiful." Her voice is a whisper of awe, and—is that? Yes it is. She's blushing. Deeply at that.

"Put 'em on, let's give it a go." He says, removing his glasses.

She removes her gloves first and works to remove her hoop earrings, then affixes the telepathic waveform diffractors (and their relevant feedback shields) into the soft, little pad of her ears. When she looks back up to him, she gives him a hesitant smile.

"How um," she swallows. "How do we test it?"

"Well…" He reaches for her hand and slides his fingertips along the centre of her palm. When he looks back up to her, her eyes are closed and she's inhaling deeply. To his mind, it feels much like it felt when she wore the gloves. There's still a current under her skin, something that pulls him to her from a place he'd always thought didn't exist in himself, at least not for centuries, but it doesn't drag him under. Yet he can now feel her skin. Soft and warm, and as his palm fits flat against hers, her fingers curl around his hand reflexively.

"All right?" She gazes at their hands, lips parted.

"I'd say it works." He swallows.

"Good." Her voice is breathless and he can feel her pulse quicken under his touch. He brushes his fingertips along the vein just under her skin, marveling at how much the realism has improved since her inception. He wants to close his eyes and linger there, hanging onto that familiar little pulse with all of his might. Just before he loses himself, he releases her hand and reaches for the sketch pad nearby.

"So, er, about those drawings."

She pulls her hand from the table, closing her fingers against her palm as she steadies her breath. "I'm, ah, I'm sure you're loads better. Don't laugh." She points at him in mock accusation.

"Rose, tell me. Do you love to draw?"

She nods.

"Then it doesn't matter if I'm better." He slides his thumb under the sketchpad cover, ready to flip it open. He looks into her eyes first. "It's not about being _better _than others. If that's the only reason why you draw, then you probably shouldn't."

"Easy for you to say."

"It is, because I've been doing it for centuries. I'm quite good." He winks at her and lifts the cover to reveal her first sketch. It's one of the instruments, a curved, wooden horn from a planet she's never been. She's captured its likeness beautifully.

"Why this one?" He glances up at her.

"It, um, it was close, and I like its shape. Sort of like a loopy trumpet. Does it sound like one?" Her voice is shaky and she keeps fiddling with her new earring, though he can't help but notice her touch is softer, deliberate. None of the typical mindless twisting and pinching she normally inflicts on her other earrings. She also has a dreamy, subtle smile that lights her eyes and makes his hearts swell with longing to just—oh. She asked a question.

"It sounds more like a French horn crossed with a clarinet."

"Yeah?"

He nods and flips the page to another instrument from various angles. It goes on like that for a few pages, rough sketches of instruments or architectural features of the music room. He makes comments of encouragement or asks questions about her technique, and offers feedback when she asks. Then Rose begins to fidget next to him before he unveils the next drawing. He hesitates and looks at her, hedging for her permission. She nods with pursed lips and closed eyes.

He flips the next page and is stunned to silence. She's drawn his face, and it's eerie to see how she sees him. Everything he considered a flaw—his asymmetrical eyes, his ear, his wrinkles, the blotchy freckle under his eye—she captured as though she found them inherently appealing. He glances to her and she's hiding her face with her hand.

"God," she says with a shaky laugh.

"You made me look better." He smiles.

She parts her fingers and peers at him. "Stop."

"It's true. And you spent the most time on this one, I can tell." Just how long was he gone? Two hours, tops.

She bumps his shoulder with hers. "Oh, don't be humble. You know you're a fit bloke."

He nods demurely and turns the page to find his old face staring back at him, the one just before this one. It takes him aback, and he swallows—she's got that one down too and it unnerves him a bit to see how much detail she remembers. He feels his hearts swell—had she loved him then, too? Her every line was careful and deliberate. She wanted to get things just right, and she had. The part of himself that was still that man soars, and he looks over at her to see her staring at it with tears in her eyes.

"You made me look better here, too," he says softly.

She smiles a little and wipes her eyes.

"Rose…" he begins, turning to her more. "It's not that I want to hide my past from you. It's just not relevant, not usually. Imagine reincarnating and feeling properly like a different person each time—different clothing and food preferences and all—but you have all of these memories from your past lives still floating in your head, affecting you. I—I'm still me, but at the same time, I'm different. I have several hundred years of experiences in my head, and I don't forget anything, but when I regenerate, I can sort of step away from them and carve a new life. Yet, sometimes it's not that easy." His hearts begin to race as he opens up to her, unsure how she'll take it, if she'll want to leave him and feel distressed because she can't. She's stuck here with him. Possibly forever, and he's—she's, how will she cope with forever? She's lived her life with an ingrained perspective that she'll live several more decades and that'll be it, but now. Now she can know centuries of pain and loss and suffering, and that's not something he would ever wish on her.

She's quiet, too quiet, and he feels panic slipping in to trip up his calm. He turns the page and it's a landscape, but he's too distracted by her lack of response.

"I could change again. I will. I told you I met my future self," he looks over at her and she's gazing at him intently. "I don't think you'll age or die in this form, Rose." He catches the sketchpad trembling in his hands out of the corner of his eye and he grips it tightly to stop himself. "So, er, you're trapped in eternity, whether you can leave the TARDIS or not—and then your mother and little brother are in another universe. That can't make you happy. I know how it feels to have someone you… Someone—" he looks away. "Someone you care about more than anything just ripped from your life."

"I love you," she says in a whisper. "I still do."

It feels like his hearts have taken over his entire body, his pulse hammers just under his skin, louder than any instrument in his music room and she has to hear it. He knows she loves him. One look at his portraits tells him that. The rush of blood in his ears is overwhelming and then he remembers to breathe when he hears her voice again.

"It was the worst day of my life, losing you." She has tears in her eyes, but she doesn't look away from him this time. "You just faded away. The whole universe just faded away."

He opens his mouth, but clicks it shut, remembering Bad Wolf Bay and facing the other him, the flesh and blood epitome of all he wished he could be for her. He'd said something then. _Does it need saying?_ It was a stupid, awful thing to say. It was manipulative, true while being intentionally oblique to get the other Doctor to say the right thing for him. He works his jaw, knowing that wouldn't be appropriate here. It wouldn't fly. Of course he—there shouldn't be any question. He fixates on a perspective flaw in her drawing, not feeling ready to respond in kind. Guilt drags his hearts down into his stomach. She's Rose, he's come to terms with that. But he had forced her hand by being evasive that day. Of course she chose the version of him who would say the words. But this situation is even more incomprehensible. She's no longer fully human, and she didn't choose this life. She's not looking at him anymore and all he can see is the other her kissing the other him.

"You don't have to say anything." Her voice is raspy with emotion, and he knows how much she wants him to say something. How could she not? "I just wanted you to know that—that my feelings haven't changed. I know things are strange and I'm—" She shakes her head and sighs. "I do miss my mum so much. But she has me still, yeah? There's a version of me over there and my mum probably has no idea I exist."

"I'm sorry."

She looks up and they search each other's eyes for a moment. She must see something that calms her, for she stops fidgeting, blinks the tears away, and reaches for her sketch pad. He hands it over and she flops it on a table behind them before turning back to him. She then reaches for his hand, holding it between hers as her eyes settle on his.

"I've seen you change. I can handle it. I chose this life with you, and it's hard. It's really, truly hard, but it's the best life. It's everything to me."

"New adventures to be had every day." He says with a smile.

"Yeah." She grins.

She's so close he can see himself reflected in her darkening eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing deepens. He glances to her lips and they part in invitation, there's no mistake. There's barely any time to acknowledge the bit of his brain that is urging him on to the Zero Room, before he kisses her. She makes a sound, a quiet little gasp that trails off into a sweet, restrained moan. His eyes slam shut at the sound and he reaches up, hands hovering beside her face, so close but not touching. He can't—he's sure if he does, he wouldn't want to stop, and he needs to heal. He needs more time.

She must notice, for she separates from him briefly so she can search his eyes, imploring him for more, for so much more, and she grasps the edge of his jacket, clinging to it as she lifts in the stool to bring herself even closer. He nudges her nose with his, coaxing her to tilt her head, and closes the space with another kiss, this time it's more gentle. It's featherlight and tender, and his fingers brush against her hair, barely touching, and it's maddening how much he wants to slide his hand through the soft strands that fall against her ear, that brush against the nape of her neck. Her lips are soft. She's so real and so vibrant, soon enough he's opening his mouth to catch her top lip between his, making it deeper without letting himself drown. She presses back, matching his vigor, and he knocks something off the workbench as he shifts on his stool. Whatever it was skitters to the ground with little metallic clinks, and their lips separate with a press of wet sound.

Rose pulls back from him again, and he stares at her, his hands lowering to grip hers. There's worry in her eyes again, and his mind is so clouded, so hazy with euphoria, that it bewilders him momentarily.

"Doctor, I can tell. I couldn't before, but… I don't know. I feel something."

"Huh?" He closes his mouth and swallows.

"Your mind. I think—I don't know, it's hard to explain. You know how you can look at someone and tell they're not feeling well? It's like that, except I could feel it from your mind."

"Oh. Yes, about that…" He clears his throat and stands up. "I'm probably losing some control over my, er, shields. I need to… I need to—"

"Go to that Zero Room place, yeah?"

"Yes, that."

"All right then. Let's get you there."


End file.
